


Cost of Living

by A Passing Housewife (flourchildwrites)



Series: Fullmetal Alchemist Tumblr Events [8]
Category: Fullmetal Alchemist (Anime 2003), Fullmetal Alchemist - All Media Types, Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood & Manga
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Roommates/Housemates, Bisexual Maes, Christmas Party, F/M, FMA Secret Santa, Finals, Gen, Instagram, Law School, Light Angst, M/M, Masturbation, Oral Sex, PTSD, Pansexual Roy, Service Dogs, Sexual Tension, Slow Burn, Social Anxiety, Social Media, Texting, Thermostat wars, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Twitter, Vaginal Fingering
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-30
Updated: 2019-01-08
Packaged: 2019-09-30 17:48:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 20,854
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17228519
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flourchildwrites/pseuds/A%20Passing%20Housewife
Summary: Change is in the air at Central University.  Due to a jealous girlfriend and rising rent, Roy and Riza find themselves on a collision course plagued by misunderstandings, white lies and thejoysof social media.  The cost of living can be steep.  Is a Christmas kiss worth the risk?Written for FMA Secret Santa 2018





	1. Part One

**Author's Note:**

  * For [vino_and_doggos](https://archiveofourown.org/users/vino_and_doggos/gifts).



> Surprise! Guess who's your secret Santa, [vino_and_doggos](https://archiveofourown.org/users/vino_and_doggos/pseuds/vino_and_doggos). IT'S ME!
> 
> As for the length of this gift fic, all I can say is that I got carried away. Therefore, like Dickens's familiar trio of Christmas spirits, this will be coming to you in three parts, representing different stages of this college/omg they were roommates/coffee shop AU. Do you think I added enough tropes? Expect the next part when the clock strikes... I dunno how to carry that parallel any further. Sometime tomorrow. I'll post sometime tomorrow. Probably.
> 
> Also, I have a million words of thanks to [ruikosakuragi](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ruikosakuragi/works) who stepped up to beta this beast for me when I realized I couldn't ask my usual beta to proofread her own gift fic. And while I haven't been following my usual reading, writing and reviewing protocol - because of this fic and CHRISTMAS - I hope to get back on the wagon in January. If you're feeling awesome and generous, feedback is so appreciated. Kudos, bookmarks and comments are literal life. Also, check out my tumblr, [flourchildwrites](https://flourchildwrites.tumblr.com/). Send me asks, questions, comments or whatever else may be on your mind.

Maes Hughes was like a Rubik’s cube, a tempting puzzle that begged to be twisted and turned between Roy Mustang's palms until the colors properly aligned.  In Roy’s experience, answers came when he focused on the bigger picture, as opposed to a single facet of Maes’s carefully constructed façade. But the problem presented in the answer.  Seeing past Maes’s persona was only the beginning. Accepting the contradictions, taking the genuine alongside the contrived, was a skill beyond Roy’s expertise, though he enjoyed looking all the same.

And who would blame him?  Maes was undeniably attractive.  He had a broad grin as enigmatic as the full moon on a cloudy night, and delicate freckles dusted the apples of his cheeks like an inverted array of stars.  The man’s disposition was sunny from the tip of trademark hairstyle to the toes of his polished boots, disrupted only by a pair of thin spectacles that gracefully aged him by at least five years.

Nevertheless, Roy knew that his friend’s oppressive cheerfulness was only skin deep.  Granted, there was a time when Maes hung the moon and the stars in Roy’s lovestruck eyes; however, that moment had all but passed.  More recently, the two men had settled for friendship complicated by a living situation that teetered deliciously on the brink between financially beneficial and conveniently satisfying.

Their apartment was at the center of it all.  To the untrained eye, it was just a two-bedroom, one bath condo with an open living concept.  There was nothing special about beige sheetrock and Formica countertops. But to Roy and Maes, it was residential nirvana.

In the words of the seasoned realtor Maes’s parents had hired, it was all about the location.  Close enough to Central University to keep their cars parked in the condo lot, but far enough that traffic wasn’t unbearable after football games.  It was a seven-minute walk to Roy’s coffee shop of choice, and from there, a three-minute jog to the grand threshold of Central University’s Law Center.

And, for whatever it was worth, their corner unit’s light was unrivaled.  Tall windows lined the perimeter of the living room, extending into the larger bedroom, Maes’s room.  Though Maes’s prim and proper mother had stressed the need for curtains, neither roommate had bothered considering the unobstructed view from their third story locale.  But the best thing about the light was the memory of lazy Sunday mornings spent tangled in the sheets of Maes’s queen bed, a place where sexual orientation and parental expectation had given way to a shared, somewhat primal truth.

Roy liked Maes, and Maes liked Roy.  Until they didn’t anymore. Until Maes’s secrets caught up with him, and Roy’s obsession with success warped into something more selfish than focused during his first semester of law school.

As far as their inner circle knew, they split on good terms, agreeing to swap friendship for the love they cultivated over the course of three years.  The truth was more complicated. It was a mess of leases, a great location and lingering attraction on both sides. Until one day it wasn’t.

Enter Gracia Martinez with her perfect posture, comely looks and ideal parentage, and if that wasn’t bad enough, Maes was honestly smitten by her.  Roy knew that look even though he tried not to see it. And finally, on a late November afternoon, Roy came home to a sullen Maes, sitting in their living room looking like he finally had something to say about the elephant in their condo.

“You had to know this was coming,” Maes stated solemnly after the initial awkwardness of his overdue declaration.  His words pried open a wound left by their breakup that had never properly healed. “It’s not that Gracia doesn’t trust you and I living together as friends, it’s just-”

“Gracia doesn’t trust you living with anyone you used to fuck,” Roy bitterly interjected.  The space between the two roommates on the sectional uncomfortably widened. As usual, Maes stood his ground while Roy lashed out.

“Can you blame her?  It was never just sex between us,” Maes said, eyeing Roy over the top of his rectangular spectacles.  “And it didn’t stop after we broke up. If Gracia wasn’t in the picture, I doubt it would have stopped at all.”

Roy understood, but he refused to add credence to Gracia’s (entirely reasonable) concerns.  He pushed himself off the firm couch cushions and strode leisurely toward the living room windows with his hands stuffed in his pockets.

“When do you want me out?” Roy asked, unable to face Maes.  His voice was sullen but steady despite the sickening emptiness in his stomach.

“Oh hell, Roy, you don’t think I’d just kick you out, do you?” Maes countered.  It wasn’t lost on Roy that he sounded genuinely hurt by the implication. “I know how much you love this place.  I’ll go. Gracia and I have been talking about getting our own place, somewhere closer to her school and my office.  I don’t think you’ll have trouble finding a new roommate.”

“Maybe,” Roy added speculatively.  

He tried to imagine their condo minus Maes, but all Roy could think of was a thousand little memories.  Movie night with Kain and Sheska. Maes making chili when the temperature dropped below 60 degrees. Long summer days, relaxing with a glass of rosé as the sun set over Central University’s belltower.

Suddenly, the light felt blinding.

“But I think we both know I won’t have anything to cook with or sit on if you leave,” Roy said.  “Besides, Gracia has been talking about moving out of her parents’ house since you two started dating.  It’ll take months to find somewhere downtown, but she should live here while you look. It’s easier for me to go.”

“I had thought about that,” Maes admitted.  Though Roy didn’t dare look at his face, he knew his ex-lover was smirking.  Once upon a time, it was just that sort of conniving expression that drove Roy up the wall.  Now, the twinkle in his eyes was for her – for Gracia - and their future together. Unlike Roy, she wouldn’t be fool enough to let him walk away without a fight.

“This is really nice of you, Roy.  Gracia and I are so grateful,” he added.  “Just let me know when you’ve found somewhere new.  Take your time.”

Roy swore to himself, even if he had to move back in with his aunt, that he’d be gone within the week.

* * *

 With exams right around the corner, Curtis Coffees was as busy and bustling as it had ever been.  Though the building itself was quaint, painted a faded forest green with a wrought iron gate standing sentry at the entrance, the inside was surprisingly modern.  At first, Riza had been drawn to the café by the heavenly aroma of coffee, but she stayed for the spacious tables, expertly showcased art and, of course, the dog-friendly apartment she rented on the second floor.

“So explain to me why you’re looking for a roommate and how that relates to the free coffee?” Rebecca playfully queried as she blew across the brim of her courtesy cup of joe.  Subtle rolling ripples danced across on the surface, threatening to teeter over the edge, but the dark-haired senior student stilled her breath just in time.

“Liam feels bad,” Riza answered.  The young blonde gestured toward the tall but youthful barista behind the counter with a subtle nod, and she reached down to stroke her dog, Black Hayate’s, thick fur.  “He got a partial basketball scholarship to Nota Bene Academy starting next semester.”

“That hoity toity boarding school near Dublith?” Rebecca asked with a hint of disbelief in her voice.

“The very same,” Riza confirmed.  “It is a great opportunity for him, and Izumi and Sig are thrilled.  But the scholarship is only partial, and they’ll be losing his help around the café.  So, to make up the difference, they’re raising my rent to the tune of an extra $500 per month starting in December.  Liam and his father feel bad about the short notice. They’ve been slipping me free stuff every time Izumi turns her back.”

“Yikes.”

Riza sighed deeply while leaning back in her chair.  It was a frustrating situation, but she could hardly find it within herself to be angry.  Riza calmly shrugged in response to her best friend’s exclamation and chanced a glance at her watch to make sure she remained on schedule.

“I can’t be mad about it, Becca.  The rent was under market when I leased this place as a Freshman, and this is the first time they’ve raised it.  A two-bedroom, one bath this close to campus is still reasonable for $1500 a month. Besides, Liam is their only kid.  They should do everything they can to support him.”

“Yeah Ri, but are you really planning on getting a roommate?  Have you forgotten what happened when we tried to room together in the dorms?”

Riza hadn’t.  How could she when crushing anxiety still followed her around like a dark cloud, threatening to rain on the Riza Hawkeye normalcy parade with every bump in the road?  Granted, the distance between the girl and her rain cloud was wider now, but the memory of her own virulent reaction to Becca’s burnt popcorn during their Freshman year was still embarrassing.

“Best friends shouldn’t live together,” Riza stated emphatically, “and my apartment is much bigger than that shoebox we shared in the dorms.  Plus, I’ve got Hayate. It should be fine this time around, and it makes sense considering that I don’t use the second bedroom for anything other than storage.”  At the sound of his name, the dog resting near Riza’s feet raised his head; she met his gaze and shook her head with a reassuring smile before Hayate resumed his resting position.

Rebecca also grinned, reassured by the heartwarming exchange; nevertheless, she leaned forward and lowered her naturally boisterous voice to ask her friend an honest, if insensitive, question.  “Why don’t you just call dear old Grandpa Warbucks and ask him to up your allowance. $500 is nothing for a guy like him.”

At the mention of her Grandfather, Riza’s spine stiffened.  Her gloved fingers tightened around the to-go coffee cup in her hand, and Riza took a long sip if only to delay her answer and still her heart rate.  She knew the reasonable thing to do would be to pick up the phone and ask for help, but the longer she went without speaking to her only living relative, the harder it got.  And if there was ever a time Riza liked to pretend she was just fine on her own, it was around Christmastime when all she could remember was the way her mother had made everything so merry and bright.

“He said we’d talk about my allowance when we get together for Christmas,” Riza lied.  Knowing her friend as she did, Becca didn’t push for more.

Riza stood up, collecting her scarf and fastening the buttons on her navy peacoat as she gingerly tugged on Hayate’s leash.  “I’ve got to get to class,” she added, swinging her backpack across her shoulders, “but I could really, really use your help on the roommate front.  Could you ask around and see if anyone is looking? No party-hard freshman. Maybe another senior or a graduate student. I want someone who is serious about their studies and knows how to wash their own dishes.”

Rebecca cocked an eyebrow in Riza’s direction.  “Beggars can’t be choosers, my friend,” she pronounced with a sage-like demeanor, “and the ones that do their own dishes always eat your food when you’re not looking.  But yeah, I’ll put out some feelers for you, and I’ll ask Jean if any of his law school friends are looking. They’re a scary bunch around this time of year, but they spend a lot of time in the law library if Jean is any indication.  Besides, the law school parties, if you’d be interested in that sort of thing, always have a fully stocked bar.”

“I don’t care about party invites.  All I want is a nice person to share 1,200 sq. feet with for about six months who also likes dogs.  Obviously, Hayate is non-negotiable,” Riza called over her shoulder as she bounded toward the double doors of Curtis Coffees. “Thanks though.  You’re the best. Text me if you find someone.”

“Must like dogs,” Becca muttered to herself as she whipped out her phone to begin the search in earnest.

* * *

Riza was halfway through her Advanced Print Newsgathering lecture before she heard from Rebecca again.  Her phone buzzed from the depths of her backpack, disturbing Hayate in the process. Quickly, Riza retrieved her phone and glanced at the familiar name on the screen.  At first, Riza thought it best to ignore the text until after class, but the cryptic message piqued her curiosity.

REBECCA CATALINA, 11:32 a.m.  
Tell me you love me.

RIZA HAWKEYE, 11:33 a.m.  
You know I love you.  Why do you need to be reminded in the middle of my class?

REBECCA CATALINA, 11:35 a.m.  
Because I am a boss best friend, and I’ve got four words for you.

RIZA HAWKEYE, 11:37 a.m.  
Which are?

REBECCA CATALINA, 11:38 a.m.  
Roy Mustang loves dogs.

RIZA HAWKEYE, 11:38 a.m.  
Good for him.

REBECCA CATALINA, 11:39 a.m.  
I’ll wait while you stalk his gorgeous, biracial ass on social media.  He’s on Jean’s Instagram. You’re welcome, btw.

It was against Riza’s better judgment to allow her attention to wander away from her fastidious note taking, but the mystery of Roy Mustang proved too tempting.  Riza furtively scrolled through Jean’s photos, looking for someone fitting Rebecca’s _super specific_ description until she came across a picture captioned, “@YaBoiRoyMustang, the fearless leader of our study group, #teammustgang #curvebreakers.”

Riza’s first instinct was to scoff at the crass hashtags, but on closer inspection she had to admit that Rebecca wasn’t completely wrong.  Roy Mustang looked like he had a very nice ass - the race of which was entirely immaterial. He stood in front of dry erase board, smiling in profile for the camera with a marker in one hand and his notes in the other.  And while the complex web of criminal law terminology on the whiteboard said “smart,” the hard lines and muscle definition of his arms and torso screamed “gym.”

The young woman shifted uncomfortably in her seat as she studied the fullness of Roy’s cheeks in contrast to the subtle definition of his jawline.  His eyes were dark, the kind that seemed as malleable as a liquid in a semi-solid form. His onyx orbs were narrow and graceful, bringing to mind the mental image of delicious chocolate covered almonds.  And as her line of sight drifted over his red lips, slightly parted and set in a lopsided grin, Riza blushed. She chalked up her reaction to her nonexistent love life and, for the second time that day, checked her rising heart rate as Hayate stirred around her ankles.

RIZA HAWKEYE, 11:50 a.m.  
Can you please explain why I’m looking at Instagram pics of one of your boyfriend’s law school friends instead of taking notes?

REBECCA CATALINA, 11:52 a.m.  
Have you seen that muscle definition?  Why wouldn’t you want to spend time looking at him?  I bet he’s hiding a six-pack underneath than mild-mannered law student exterior.

RIZA HAWKEYE, 11:53 a.m.  
Seriously, Becca, I have class.

REBECCA CATALINA, 11:57 a.m.  
Ok, here’s the tea.  Tall, dark and delicious has been living with his ex, and he wants to move out ASAP because his ex is MovingOn™.  Jean knows Roy pretty well from their study group, and he says Roy’s a good guy who (yes!) loves dogs. Plus, I bet he knows how to take out the trash, and on top of being absolute eye candy, you won’t have to worry about him getting too friendly.

RIZA HAWKEYE, 12:00 p.m.  
Becca, I thought you knew I was looking for a girl.  There’s only one bathroom. He’ll never understand why I need so much time in there.

REBECCA CATALINA, 12:01 p.m.  
You never specified.  Besides, one bathroom is precisely why you need a guy, and as I said, you won’t have to worry about Roy like that.

RIZA HAWKEYE, 12:02 a.m.  
So now you’re telling me I’m not cute enough for wonderboy.

REBECCA CATALINA, 12:03 p.m.  
Omg.  Not at all.  But wonderboy is officially his name from now on.

RIZA HAWKEYE, 12:04 p.m.  
Get to the point, Becca.

REBECCA CATALINA, 12:04 p.m.  
Ok. So, the reason you don’t have to worry is that Jean says wonderboy’s ex is a dude.  Sadly enough, I think he’s your competition.

RIZA HAWKEYE, 12:07 p.m.  
Don’t you mean our competition?

REBECCA CATALINA, 12:08 p.m.  
Nah fam.  I took myself off the market when Jean and I became Facebook official.  I’m meeting his parents over Winter break.

RIZA HAWKEYE, 12:10 p.m.  
Honestly Becca, I couldn’t care less who he dates as long as he does it quietly, cleans up after himself and is nice to Hayate.  When can I meet him?

REBECCA CATALINA, 12:12 p.m.  
I’ll send wonderboy’s contact info over right away.

RIZA HAWKEYE, 12:12 p.m.  
Let’s just call him Roy.

REBECCA CATALINA, 12:14 p.m.  
Attachment:  1 Contact - Wonderboy

REBECCA CATALINA, 12:14 p.m.  
Too late.

* * *

 They met at Curtis Coffees on a Wednesday afternoon.  Roy inwardly admitted that the entire scenario was almost too good to be true.  The prospective roommate in question was one Riza Hawkeye, a senior slated for graduation in the spring.  The apartment itself, situated conveniently above his favorite coffee shop, was closer to campus than the condo he had shared with Maes and smaller by the cozy look of things.

Where Maes’s tastes were decidedly mid-century modern, Riza seemed to favor rustic comfort.  The lone overstuffed couch in the living space was draped with cozy blankets and decorative pillows bearing a crimson and cream color scheme.  Plush rugs, in equally rich colors and intricate patterns, covered the wooden floors, muddling the thud of Roy’s steps against the old-fashioned flooring.  Likewise, the galley kitchen, complete with a checkerboard floor, was similarly traditional featuring white appliances that were ten years behind the times.

On first inspection, Roy’s new room had been filled to the brim with deteriorating cardboard boxes that smelled faintly of bitter ash.  And unlike the rest of the place, which was clean (if cluttered) and regularly used, the stale air and layers of dust on the ledge of the small window told Roy that Riza had not cared to enter her spare room in many, many moons.  Roy’s naturally curious mind was filled with questions about the labels on the aging containers, “Berthold’s study,” “Elizabeth’s closet,” and “family photographs” among countless others. For the sake of his fledgling relationship with his new roommate, he kept his questions to himself and agreed to Riza’s three rules, arbitrary as they seemed:

  1. Clean up after yourself;
  2. Do not burn popcorn; and (most importantly)
  3. Treat Black Hayate with respect.



Though in retrospect, Roy suspected that he had moved too quickly to remedy his residential woes.  Maes certainly seemed to think so as he helped Roy load the last of his furnishings into the bed of Jean Havoc’s truck.  Yet, not once in the week since Roy had signed on the dotted line of Izumi Curtis’s well-drafted lease had Maes attempted to change Roy’s mind.

Instead, he shook Roy’s hand as his former roommate handed over the key and pulled Roy in for the most platonic hug that he could muster.  Gracia stood behind Maes, presiding over the occasion with a pleasant smile and a watchful glint in her eyes. Both men knew she could see them, and Roy schooled his expression accordingly.  Like it wasn’t an imposition to be asked to leave his home of over four years. As if two weeks before finals wasn’t one of the worst times she could have picked to air her grievances.

“Thank you for understanding,” she said as she pulled Roy in for a chillier embrace.  “I have a feeling we are going to laugh about this one day.”

Roy sincerely doubted that.

And that was the end of it or, perhaps, the beginning of a new, Maes-less chapter in Roy’s life.  It was the very loss he had narrowly circumvented in the wake of their breakup. It was the final tie to their carefree college days which was then severed in favor of getting older, growing apart and moving on.

Roy couldn’t say he didn’t resent the entire situation, but he soon realized that if anyone was struggling more with the change in scenery, it was the new lady in his life, Riza.  As Havoc put it, the look on her face when Roy suggested they swap her older television for his new flat screen spoke volumes. And if that wasn’t enough, Riza’s sour mood deepened, culminating in a harsh rebuke.

“Step away, from Hayate!”  Riza practically barked the order from clear across the living room when Roy tried to tempt the black and white pup into a tug of war with an old dishcloth.  She approached the pair with an air befitting a stodgy middle school principal, and with a flick of her wrist, Riza slipped the connector on Hayate’s leash through the loop on his harness.

“We’re going for a walk, Hayate,” Riza announced.  She ignored Roy’s befuddled expression.

“He looked a little restless.  I was just trying to play wi-”

“I know what you were doing, but I’m stressed today.  I need him to pay attention. In the future, ask me first before you play with him or pet him.”

“I’m sorry; I didn't mean any harm.”

“It’s fine; just excuse us for a moment.”

Roy knew it wasn’t fine.  Not by a longshot.

While Rebecca followed her friend, grabbing both her coat and Riza’s as she left, Havoc stayed behind to confront the awkward silence that hung in the air as the apartment door slammed shut.  He turned to Roy and shrugged, clearly perplexed by Riza’s abrupt departure. With his mind still reeling, Roy didn’t dare speak first.

“So, it looks like we’re done here,” Havoc interjected, surveying the empty boxes that they had used to transport Roy’s few possessions.  “Want to meet up with the guys at the library and do some studying?”

“Yeah, I think we should give her some space,” Roy responded, suddenly worried that he’d made a terrible, _terrible_  miscalculation.

* * *

 “On a scale of one to ten, how bad was that?”

“As first impressions go, it’s a six, I think,” Havoc said as they approached his usual spot in the law school parking lot.  The sandy-haired man chewed a toothpick between his teeth. Roy thought it was an unsettling habit which was, nevertheless, preferable to chain-smoking.  Jean scratched at the nicotine patch on his impeccable defined arms as his baby blue eyes flashed with mirth. “It’s not like she hates you personally. I think she just dislikes the idea of you, a new person coming into her space and changing things.

“It must be the time of year, finals and whatnot,” Roy replied dismissively.

Jean pulled into the graveled space and shifted the truck into park as Roy gathered his laptop and notes, ready to embrace another Saturday afternoon in the Mustgang’s designated study room.  Even though the four friends no longer shared the same schedule, they studied together, holed up in a reserved room on the library’s fourth floor. And while the subject of their respective studies had changed, they followed the same study schedule that placed the group within the top 25% of the class after their first year.  All except Havoc whose job representing the family grocery chain was secured by birthright no matter his place amongst his peers.

“At least her dog likes me,” Roy added as he slid out of the passenger seat and shut the door, “not that she’d let him get too friendly.”

“Well, Hayate’s not a pet, bro.  You can’t roughhouse with him whenever you want,” Jean explained.  “He’s a… Whaddya call it? You know, a working dog.”

Roy smirked at the phrase.  “Be careful. Your country is showing again.”

“Very funny,” Havoc retorted.  “He’s a... service dog! That’s it.  He helps her with anxiety and stuff. All this studying is scrambling my brains.”

Roy paused and chuckled ruefully to himself while running a hand through his unkempt hair.  “Hayate is a service dog.  _Great_. Now I look like an asshole for trying to play with him while his owner was struggling.  Don’t you think you should have mentioned that before?”

“Shit, man.  It slipped my mind.  To be fair, Hayate isn’t the first thing I remember when I think about Riza.  She’s great when you get to know her. Funny, in a dry sort of way, and thoughtful when you least expect it.  No one was going to be Maes Hughes right away. Hell, you and Maes weren't getting along so well even before the breakup.”

“You think so?” Roy asked.  The words tumbled out of Roy’s mouth before he could check himself.

“I do, man,” Havoc answered honestly.  “This move is long overdue, and maybe I should have said something sooner.  I was just minding my own business.”

Roy hummed in reply as Jean pushed open the double doors of Central University’s Law Library.  They passed through the narrow stacks of tomes and treatises bearing varying shades of regally muted colors.  Roy felt a familiar air wash over him, a feeling of superiority as his classmates greeted him in strictly enforced silence.

He wasn't the top student amongst the second year law students, but the seventh slot was no less coveted when coupled with the confidence and charisma Roy exuded. Even Professor Armstrong, a notoriously tough constitutional law teacher, had reluctantly dubbed him a natural barrister after a particularly impassioned caselaw analysis in her class.  Yet, behind the bravado, Roy’s feelings about his homelife wavered. He thought about Maes and replayed potent memories of their last two years, good and bad alike.

In the rosy glow of hindsight, it was easy to forget that things hadn't always been perfect.  For every blissful movie night with friends, there was an evening alone, waiting for Maes to return from whatever obligation had consumed his time.  For each rosé-drenched sunset, there was a fight or two fueled by the parts of Maes’s life that he hadn't wanted to share.

* * *

 “Wine or meds,” Rebecca asked, displaying a bottle of pinot noir in one hand and pills in the other.

“Neither,” Riza responded. She curled up on her couch with a pair of fuzzy socks and a pillow pressed against her chest.  Hayate rested peacefully by her side. “This little guy is all the medication I need.”

“Suit yourself.”

Becca returned to the kitchen, popping the wine cork out of the bottle and pouring herself a small glass of blood red wine that matched her lipstick.  She plopped down on the couch next to Riza and pressed the pill bottle into her best friend’s palm. Concern graced her jovial features, but Rebecca hid the worst of it behind all the justifications she and Jean had concocted when they had hatched their grand plan.

Roy and Riza both needed a change though they seemed equally as reluctant to seek it on their own. Even Jean admitted that Roy could be a cocky bastard; a good grounding was way overdue to keep his recent success in perspective.  And Rebecca knew Riza has her own problems. She had allowed the tragedies of her past to encroach upon her future. Whatever her insecurities might have told her, Riza needed to remember that she could still be young and fun and free.

“You’ll take them if you need them, right?”  Becca inquired with pleading eyes. “You’ve got them for a reason.”

Riza squirmed under her best friend’s gaze, grasping the pill bottle limply in her hand.  She stared lazily at the label bearing her name. “I just got a little overwhelmed for a moment there.  I’m fine now.”

“That’s my point, Ri,” Rebecca said.  “You don’t have to be fine all the time.  You can be annoyed about the kitchen stuff and the TV.  You can even be angry at wonderboy for trying to play with Hayate after you asked him not to.”

“But I didn’t ask him not to,” Riza replied.  “I didn’t tell Roy that Hayate was a service dog.  I didn’t tell him about me or my anxiety. We met downstairs for coffee, came up here to look at the apartment and that was that.  He signed a lease with Izumi a couple days later.”

“So, he doesn’t know anything?”

“Not really.”  Riza’s tone was sheepish but defensive.  “It was all going so well, and I didn’t know how to casually slip into the conversation that I’m an orphan whose father died in a house fire, and as a consolation prize, I got this huge scar on my back and a wicked case of PTSD.”

“Point taken,” Rebecca conceded, taking a deep sip of her wine.  “Maybe I should have asked Jean to mention it to wonderboy before I gave you his number.”

“No,” Riza sighed.  She reached down to scratch Hayate between his pointed ears; in response, the dog leaned into her deft fingers.  “I can't have you and Jean fighting my battles for me. Journalists are supposed to be able to ask the tough questions and tell the world the things it needs to hear.  I shouldn’t perpetuate some sugar-coated version of myself. I should explain and... apologize.”

Rebecca’s bold eyebrows arched, threatening to disappear into the fringe of raven hair cropped stylishly across her forehead.  She pressed her left hand to the center of her chest, nearly sloshing what little was left of her wine across her oversized sweater.  The young woman’s lips formed an exaggerated “O” to emphasize her shock and awe.

“Stop the presses,” she announced to a group of imaginary correspondents, “this just in.  Riza Hawkeye to apologize. I should sell tickets.”

Riza couldn’t help it; she laughed for the first time that day.  The blonde’s head lolled back on the overstuffed cushions, crushing her lovely locks that had been hastily styled into a messy bun earlier that day.  She closed her eyes and exhaled slowly. The pressure of Hayate’s gentle nudges on the palm of her hand calmed Riza and obliged her to keep scratching a favorite spot behind his ear.

“I said I should apologize, not that I will,” Riza stressed.

“Well you know I’m here if you need some backup,” Becca added.  She finished off her glass and cautiously chewed her bottom lip as if she had something to say.  Riza gave her a puzzled look, and after a thirty-second delay, Rebecca mustered the courage to voice the thought that was on the tip of her tongue, loosened by the bitter aftertaste of pinot noir.

“Roy’s an orphan too, you know.  I think, when you get to know him, you’ll find that he’s got a lot in common with you.”

Riza sat still, eyes fixed on Hayate as she considered her best friend’s words.  A series of contradictory emotions replayed on loop in her mind, provoking conflicts that she had not confronted since she ditched Becca in the dorms mid-term.  She was perturbed with Roy and herself, frustrated by her own reactions to things that should have been easy to cope with. Now she could admit, to herself if no one else, that his television was better than hers;  it should be in the living room.

And underneath all of Riza’s musing about plates and appliances, her curiosity stirred.

“Maybe so,” she stated simply.

 


	2. Part Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As promised, here's the second part of my darling little college/coffee shop/roommate AU gift fic. And OMG... I'm thrilled by the response to the first part. Thank you. THANK YOU! Thank you to everyone who commented and kudo-ed. The third part will be coming (indeed - coming :P) as soon as I can get it written and beta-ed; however, when it comes between producing new content and making a deadline, I favor taking the time I need to produce something I'd like to read instead of rushing just to meet a deadline.
> 
> Also, as before, many thanks to [ruikosakuragi](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ruikosakuragi/works) for being a lovely person and a great beta! And if you're feeling awesome and generous, feedback is so appreciated. Kudos, bookmarks and comments are literal life. Also, check out my tumblr, [flourchildwrites](https://flourchildwrites.tumblr.com/). Send me asks, questions, comments or whatever else may be on your mind. I've gotten some really nice anon asks stemming from this fic, and I really enjoyed responding to them!

It was half-past ten by the time Roy’s key slipped into the lock.  From her place on the couch, Riza stirred, startled by the metallic grind of the doorknob.  She quickly shut her laptop and took a calming breath. Little did she know, nervousness bubbled on both sides of the front door, replaced by awkwardness as Roy crossed the threshold.  The thick soles of his winter boots thumped against the wooden floor.

“Hello,” Roy said, sounding formal and surprised.

Riza wondered if he had intentionally stayed out late in the hopes that she would already be in bed.  If that was the case, it might have worked but for Riza’s desire to bury the hatchet.

“Do you always stay out this late?” Riza responded.  She blurted out the question without thinking. Inwardly, she chastised herself.  Hopefully, Roy wouldn't notice the blush that crept over the apples of her cheeks.

“Often, in fact,” Roy stated.  He tossed his keys between his hands, still wearing his coat.  “Not at a bar or anything. I was at the library. My finals start in two weeks.”

“I take it you’re a night owl.”  Riza did her best to inject some levity into her stiff voice.

Roy was quick to respond.  “And you must be a morning person.”

“Guilty.”

Roy shut the front door and, with his keys still in hand, he engaged the deadbolt.  A beat of tense silence filled the room. It touched the space in the kitchen cupboard that Riza had cleared out for Roy and ran along the thick rugs.  A petty part of Roy had debated about returning at all, but his features softened when he noticed his new television sitting in place of pride on Riza’s entertainment center.  She was trying, and suddenly, Roy felt the urge to do the same.

Like a pair of great minds, Roy and Riza chose to voice similar sentiments at the same moment.

“I think we got off to a bad sta-”  
“I’m sorry I snapped at you ear-”

Roy grinned, halting his sentence as soon as he heard Riza’s alto voice cut through his own bass tones.  “Ladies first,” he said, surprised by the flirty cadence of his words.

“Alright.”  Riza stood, placing her laptop to the side.  She tucked a wayward strand of her honey blond hair, behind her ear.  “I’m sorry I snapped at you earlier. It’s been a while since I’ve had a roommate, and I might have - no, I definitely - glossed over a few important details when we met.  But if you’d want to, I’d like to talk about it now. If it’s not too late.”

The young man’s gaze softened, and he shuffled off his coat in tacit acceptance of Riza’s belated proposal. She gestured to the empty spot next to her on the couch, and Roy took a seat, careful to preserve a gulf of space.  Hayate curled over his master’s small feet.

“I lost my dad during my last year of high school in a house fire,” Riza stated, jumping headfirst into a difficult narrative, “and since then I’ve had a rough time processing stress.  Lots of things, small things, remind me of the fire, and I try to compensate by controlling my environment.”

“I’m sorry.  Were you there when it happened?” Roy asked.

“Yes, and that’s relevant to you because when I lived in the dorms with Rebecca, there was an incident with some burnt popcorn.  I didn’t handle it well, but after, I got some help. Then, I got Hayate, and we moved to this apartment. You’re the first roommate I’ve had since.”

Roy’s expression was contemplative but, otherwise, unreadable.  His brows furrowed, and his gaze fixed on the plush rug. “Thank you for telling me,” he finally uttered, much to Riza’s relief.

“I should have told you earlier.”

“Yeah,” Roy agreed, “but you’re telling me now.  I’d like to think that's what counts.”

Riza took a breath and chanced the question on the tip of her tongue.  “Do you think we can move on from this?”

His answer didn't come quickly.

“I don’t know,” Roy answered candidly.  “We’d have to find a way to communicate.  Some open channel where you’re not afraid to speak your mind, and I can do the same.  Do you like to write?”

At that, a smile pulled at the corners of Riza’s mouth, and Roy swore he could sense a sarcastic comment lurking behind the restrained set of her jaw.  A pleasant sensation tugged at Roy’s heartstring, a pull toward another person that he hadn’t felt in years. There was something he liked about Riza Hawkeye, flaws and all, and instantly, Roy was dying to hear the thoughts held back by a pair of pretty pink lips.

“I’m a journalism major, Roy,” she said coyly.

“So you know your way around words, do you?”

“Yes.”

“Do you think you could type out what you thought when I asked if you like to write?”

The grin that crept across Riza’s face broke out into a full blown smile.  Wordlessly, she opened her laptop, and with a quick flourish of fingers, typed a sentence into her word processor.  Thoroughly amused, Roy watched her features light up. He eagerly accepted the laptop when she handed it over to him.  The sentence, orphaned from the paper that she’d been working on, subtly taunted him, somehow enhanced by the way her cursor blinked innocently behind the sassy remark.

_I like to write probably about as much as you like to talk._

“Then we should have a lot to say to one another,” Roy responded aloud, passing the laptop back to Riza.  “All my favorite people are smart asses.”

For the second time that evening, Riza’s fingers danced across her keyboard in Roy’s presence.  He slid beside her to see the words as she typed.

 _That doesn’t explain Jean_ , she wrote.   _He may be an ass, but he certainly doesn’t strike me as all that smart._

Roy laughed - genuinely laughed - for the first time in recent memory.  “Ouch! That’s part of Havoc’s charm,” he remarked. “He isn’t a genius, not academically anyway, but he’s smarter than everyone gives him credit for.  I think he likes being underestimated.”

This time Riza answered Roy aloud, meeting his eyes with an ease that hadn't been there before.  Roy didn’t move from the space next to her. While, indeed, there was no longer any need to be that close, he felt as comfortable as Riza was calm.

“Please don’t tell anyone I said that,” Riza stressed.  “Becca started dating Jean about six months ago, and to be honest, I don’t know much about him.  When we all hang out together, I feel like a third wheel.”

Roy nodded in agreement.  “Your secrets are safe with me.  It was the same for me when my ex started seeing people again.  His dates would come over, and I’d feel like an intruder in my own home.  That’s how I met Havoc. I started studying at the library more just to get out of the house, and we ended up forming a study group with two other guys, Falman and Breda.”

“I’m sorry,” Riza replied.

“Don’t be,” Roy announced, albeit kindly, gently.  “I can be a stubborn bastard sometimes. Moving on from Maes has been a process, a longer one than it needed to be.  If I hadn't been so wrapped up in all that, I would have noticed that you were having a hard time long before you snapped.”

“So we’re good then?” Riza asked hopefully.  Even Hayate perked up as if waiting for his answer with bated doggy breath.

“Yeah, I think we are.”

* * *

 Riza’s laptop became a central feature on the kitchen bar of their small apartment, and come Monday afternoon, there was a magnetic notepad stuck to the fridge to aid in the household’s back and forth.  Strange though this avenue of communication was, Riza began to look forward to Roy’s clapbacks, and she enjoyed his presence even more. A satisfying heat rose in Riza’s cheeks as Roy hovered over her shoulder, waiting for his roommate to turn her thoughts into black and white.  Riza liked the feeling of his breath on her shoulder, and more than once, she had to remind herself that he wasn’t into women.

At least, that’s what Becca had said, and what reason was there to lie about something like that?

B ut their method wasn’t foolproof, Riza knew all too well.  In only four days time, they’d nearly been caught at least once by Rebecca’s prying eyes while studying for their Latin final.  When the text alert on Riza’s phone went off one too many times for her best friend’s liking, Becca hadn’t hesitated to seize the moment, screaming “carpe Riza’s phone” as she vied for possession of Riza’s old iphone on the living room couch.  Thankfully, Riza prevailed, courtesy of Roy’s convenient outburst about the two friends being too loud. Yet, the entire incident was too close for comfort.

“So no more texting,” Roy said the minute Becca left that evening.  He took a swing from his water bottle as he leaned against his bedroom doorframe.

“Maybe I could turn my text alert off,” Riza mused aloud, “but then I might miss my messages altogether.”

“Exactly.”

“But it would be weird if we never texted, right?”  Riza queried.

“Are you so concerned with being normal?”  Roy retorted.

“No,” Riza answered.  “But I’d like to look normal, and you know she's just going to get ahold of my phone and check my texts when I’m not looking.”

Roy thought for a moment and then spoke up.  “Well, if we’ve got something completely boring to say, we text.  Take out the trash, or I’ll be back late tonight. Things like that.  And if it's something more interesting, something you wouldn’t want someone like Becca to see, maybe we could use another app.  Discord is really obvious, but uh… Do you have twitter?”

Riza smirked.  “I’m a mass comm student.  Of course I have a twitter.  I’m not active or anything.”

“But maybe we could use their messaging system,” Roy explained.  “Rebecca might not think much of your twitter notifications, and even if she does see something, she won’t know it’s me.  My name isn’t on my account. I just use it to complain about President Bradley and other political stuff.”

“What’s your handle?” Riza asked, curiosity piqued.

For a moment, Roy’s suave exterior crumbled. “Just tell me yours.”

Riza bit her lip.  “Are you embarrassed?”

“Maybe.  I can explain over the app, or we can chat using your laptop.”

Still smiling, the young blond decided to give her roommate a small modicum of privacy.   “It’s @HotShotHawk96.”

“Easy to remember,” Roy quipped as he turned back toward the safety of his room.

“When will I be hearing from you?” she asked.

“Soon.”

From where Riza stood, it couldn't be soon enough.

* * *

 Wednesday morning came and went followed by a blustery afternoon that chilled Riza to the bone.   For all the things she loved about her apartment - it’s convenient location and the persistent smell of freshly ground coffee just to name a few - Riza did not like the drafts that surged through every crevice of the old second story.  But unlike Hayate, who had retired to an oversized dog bed under the living room vent, Riza had studying to do. She wrapped a blanket around her narrow shoulders and adjusted the thermostat to a balmy 75 degrees, forgetting that the warmest room in the house was also the smallest bedroom, Roy’s room.

About ten minutes, Riza’s phone buzzed on the kitchen counter.  Her stomach lurched as she saw the twitter icon on her home screen and from her seated position at the bar, she grabbed her phone.  Riza eagerly swiped her screen to access the mysterious message.

Could it be Roy?

@TooHotToHandle:  I didn’t know our apartment was a sauna.

@HotShotHawk96:  Oh my god, Roy. Is that really your handle?

@TooHotToHandle:  God? You’d have better luck asking for Satan seeing as it feels like the flames of hell are in my room.  Is there any chance we could turn the thermostat to a setting other than fire and brimstone?

@TooHotToHandle:  But yes, It’s me, and this is my handle.  I was buzzed and mad about the election results when I made it.  Maes thought it was hilarious. What’s your excuse for trying to give me heatstroke in December?

@HotShotHawk96:  I’m freezing, Roy.  The thermostat is at 75.

@TooHotToHandle:  75! The gas bill is going to be insane this month.  Can you turn it down to 70 so I can put my shirt back on?

Riza’s fingers froze from something other than the bitter cold, and her eyes remained glued on Roy’s message.  His bedroom door was closed but just knowing that he was shirtless on the other side of the wall had a warming effect from within Riza’s core.  The mental image of a sweaty and half-naked Roy Mustang brought to mind Rebecca’s words in that fateful conversation just a week ago. Absolute eye candy is what she had called Roy.  And wonderboy, a nickname that was proving to be more and more accurate by the day.

@HotShotHawk96:  I’ll split the difference.  73 and you keep the door to your room open to circulate the heat.

And if Riza got a glimpse or two of Roy in his boxers, all the better.  It didn't hurt to look.

@TooHotToHandle:  72. I’ll open my door.  Final offer.

@HotShotHawk96:  Final offer? Or you’ll what?  This is a negotiation, Mr. Mustang.

A reply didn’t come right away.  Instead, Riza sensed movement from within the depths of Roy’s room, and before she could whip her head around, the young woman heard the telltale shuffle of bare feet against the hallway floor.  Roy rounded the corner just as Riza turned to greet the noise, and true to his word, Roy Mustang stood before her shirtless, wearing only a pair of loose leisure pants. His waistband hung limply around the defined “v” on his abdomen.

For the umpteenth time in only a handful of days, Riza bit her bottom lip and reflexively tucked her hair behind her ear.  The muscles on Roy’s arms and chest were taut and well defined if perhaps smaller than Jean’s, but not disappointing in the slightest.  The hair at the nape of Roy’s neck seemed to stick to skin, the complexion of which was darker than Riza’s. However, what surprised her the most was a gnarly scar on his left side.  His skin was puckered and lined there, not unlike the remnants of a tie-dyed disaster. Like her own scar.

Riza blushed as she watched Roy move defiantly toward the thermostat and adjust the temperature.

“Or I’ll just change it myself.  Two can play that game, Ms. Hawkeye.”

Words caught in Riza’s throat, and try as she might, the only sound that escaped her lips was a faint sigh.  Riza’s eyes tracked Roy as he leisurely sauntered back past her. She tried to protest, to say “stop” or “put a shirt on,” but her feeble efforts were to no avail.  Roy disappeared around the corner; his bedroom door shut with a dull thump.

Riza dived headfirst back into her phone the moment she felt it vibrate

@TooHotToHandle:  Enjoy the show?

@HotShotHawk96:  That wasn’t very nice!

@TooHotToHandle:  If I didn't know better, I’d say you were flustered.

@HotShotHawk96:  I was surprised. That’s all.  And you know I’m not good with my words.

@HotShotHawk96:  What did you turn it to?

@TooHotToHandle:  68

@HotShotHawk96:  I’m going to freeze to death.  Remember me fondly.

@TooHotToHandle:  It’s been less than five minutes.

@HotShotHawk96:  I can’t feel my toes.  Feed Hayate when I’m gone.

@TooHotToHandle:  In consideration of your poor frozen toes, I am prepared to cease hostilities and open official negotiations.

The phrase “official negotiations” puzzled Riza, but she had little time to ruminate on the concept before a text message notification flashed at the top of her iPhone screen.  Surely, Riza realized, this whole exchange could have been handled through text messaging. It was, essentially, normal roommate stuff, but Roy’s decision to contact her first over twitter was intriguing, as were his abs and the scar along his left side.  Their living situation, the semi-flirtatious banter that occurred naturally, and Roy’s supposed sexuality threw Riza’s world of black and white into an intense spectrum of color.

Roy Mustang was trial by fire.  For the first time since Riza’s failed living experiment with Rebecca, he forced her to confront the practicalities of living with another person.  And despite her supposedly fragile disposition, Roy gave her little quarter, sensing perhaps that Riza was stronger than everyone gave her credit for.

ROY MUSTANG, 4:48 p.m.  
Can we settle on 72 for now?  I’ll open my door, and after I leave for the library, you can turn it back up to 75 until I get back this evening.

RIZA HAWKEYE, 4:51 p.m.  
It’s a deal. Turning the thermostat to 72 now.

ROY MUSTANG, 4:51 p.m.  
Opening my door.

True to her word, Riza set the dial to 72 and resumed her post at the kitchen counter.  Her fingers hovered over her keyboard, ready to finish her final piece for Advanced Print Newsgathering, but her mind wandered elsewhere as she heard the sound of Roy’s door opening.  Riza shook her head back and forth, attempting to banister the sight of topless Roy Mustang from her mind’s eye. One more message, she told herself, and she’d devote her efforts to her article for the rest of the evening.  Riza opened twitter on her browser.

@HotShotHawk96:  So that’s the end of our Thermostat Wars?

@TooHotToHandle:  Seems like it, but you never know.  Border skirmishes could arise at any time.

@HotShotHawk96:  Uh oh. I’ll get my guns ready.

@TooHotToHandle:  You’ll need more than your guns to win this war, Ms. Hawkeye.

Again, Riza froze, captivated by an idea that was equal parts flirty and inappropriate.  She swiveled in her stool, grabbing only her phone as she headed toward her room all the while thinking that two could play at _that_ game too.

* * *

 Roy knew that he should have regretted sending the flirty messages.  Surely, he could have gotten his point across without involving whatever feelings simmered between him and his new roommate.  And really, he had no excuse for strutting his stuff through the apartment. In fact, the moment he had stepped out of his room, he had understood why Riza had hiked up the temperature, but he enjoyed being ogled by someone like Riza, by a sensible woman who could have had her pick of any man or woman that swung her way.  It was all harmless.

And, for the record, Roy was interested.  Too interested. So interested, in fact, that he decided to leave for the library sooner rather than later just to see her again on the way out.

But Riza wasn’t at the kitchen bar when Roy departed, though her laptop sat idly on the counter.  And to make matter more perplexing, Hayate snoozed peacefully in his fluffy dog bed with his master nowhere in sight.  Roy knocked on Riza’s bedroom door to let her know he was leaving. Though she answered right away, her reply was muffled and harried, so unlike her usual tone that Roy was worried.  Once at the library, he texted her as soon as the smallest smidgen of warmth returned to his frigid fingers.

ROY MUSTANG, 6:15 p.m.  
Is everything ok?

RIZA HAWKEYE, 6:25 p.m.  
It’s nothing.  I’m fine.

Roy switched gears.

@TooHotToHandle:  If I went too far, let me know.  I like to push the envelope, but I never meant to make you uncomfortable.

That much was the truth.  Roy had not meant to make her hide away in her room.  To make her squirm in her seat, maybe. But the young man told himself that his actions were nothing but a harmless flirtation, something fueled by the stress of finals and celibacy.  Roy grimaced and internally agreed that he should take a step back toward the cooler side of friendly. He’d keep his shirt on through hell and high water. He’d…

A new direct message notification came through, but there were no words.  In the place of Riza’s usual quips, there was an image, taken in low light.  Roy enlarged the picture, and immediately his eyes grew wide. His breath caught in his throat and his adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed thickly.

“Excuse me,” he offered furtively to the few inhabitants of Team Mustgang’s study room.  “ I’ll be right back.”

From within the relative privacy of the disused stacks on the third floor, Roy breathed deeply, comforted by the smell of mothballs and pages pressed with the dust of yesteryear.  Again, Roy checked his phone. There was no mistaking what it was, though the who wasn't nearly as obvious. Still, Roy knew it had to be Riza, even with the profile of her pretty face partly distorted by darkness.

She sat with her bare back toward a mirror and a blanket pooled around the curve of her waist.  Her phone was poised over her right shoulder to catch her reflection. Light glinted off the blonde’s long hair which curled around the back of her neck and gathered over her left shoulder.  And yet where there should have been miles of creamy, unblemished skin, angry markings painted Riza’s flesh. Raised and red with discolored yellow and peach tones, the scar traveled up Riza’s elegant spine, swelling into two large blotches of intimidating size and shape.

If the picture was meant to dissuade him, it had the opposite effect.  Roy’s hands were _hungry_.  He wanted to touch it, or rather he wanted to touch her.  Plunging a hand beneath his shirt, he felt his own scar, the product of the car accident that claimed his parent’s lives.  Though all outward appearances were to the contrary, the roommates were more alike than anyone could have anticipated, and Roy yearned to know more about the smartass who stood her ground over Twitter and sent him half naked picture to make a point about shirt and scars.

@HotShotHawk96:  You’re not the only one with scars, Mr. Mustang.

@TooHotToHandle:  You’re beautiful, Riza.

It was the only response that would do.

* * *

 RIZA HAWKEYE, 8:50 p.m.  
I think I did something I shouldn’t have.

REBECCA CATALINA, 8:55 p.m.  
Oh really?  Did you skip class today?

RIZA HAWKEYE, 8:57 p.m.  
No.  Worse.

REBECCA CATALINA, 8:59 p.m.  
Did you watch one of those Netflix Christmas movies without me?  Because if it’s that, I’ll forgive you if you provide the diet coke and popcorn when we watch it together after finals.

RIZA HAWKEYE, 9:02 p.m.  
No, this is actually terrible, Becca.  I’m so embarrassed.

REBECCA CATALINA, 9:05 p.m.  
How bad could it be, Ri?  This is you we’re talking about?

RIZA HAWKEYE, 9:12 p.m.  
This guy and I were texting back and forth, and one thing lead to another… I sent him something.

REBECCA CATALINA, 9:13 p.m.  
Holy shit!  Dlsk;fjgsdf!  Was it a nude pic?!?!?!

RIZA HAWKEYE, 9:15 p.m.  
Not really.  It was just a picture of my back.  My face was dark, but still. We were comparing scars.

REBECCA CATALINA, 9:16 p.m.  
So he sent you a pic too?

RIZA HAWKEYE, 9:16 p.m.  
More or less.

REBECCA CATALINA, 9:17 p.m.  
Ok.  First, as your best friend, I need his name and address?  If this works out, I’ll send him a fruit basket and schedule a parade in his honor.  If this doesn’t, I need to give the hitman directions and a good description.

RIZA HAWKEYE, 9:20 p.m.  
No.

REBECCA CATALINA, 9:21 p.m.  
Do I know him?

RIZA HAWKEYE, 9:26 p.m.  
I can’t say that you do.

REBECCA CATALINA, 9:27 p.m.  
Well, how did he respond?

RIZA HAWKEYE, 9:29 p.m.  
He called me beautiful.

REBECCA CATALINA, 9:29 p.m.  
AH!

REBECCA CATALINA, 9:30 p.m.  
This is amazing!  I like him already.  Are you sure you won’t tell me his name?

RIZA HAWKEYE, 9:31 p.m.  
Positive.

REBECCA CATALINA, 9:34 p.m.  
So what’s the problem?  It sounds like you like him, and he likes you.  And while it's always risky to send nudes, you didn’t sent him anything explicit.  Plus, your face was covered. What are you nervous about? Do you trust him?

RIZA HAWKEYE, 9:36 p.m.  
I want to trust him, Becca.  I’m just not sure I’m ready for a relationship.

REBECCA CATALINA, 9:39 p.m.  
This doesn’t have to be some big romance, Ri.  Maybe slow down on the pics, but otherwise, just see where this thing goes.  It might turn into nothing, but then, it could also be something that’s good for you.

RIZA HAWKEYE, 9:41 p.m.  
I’m not sure he even likes me like that.

REBECCA CATALINA, 9:42 p.m.  
Are you kidding me, Ri?  He’s showing off the goods to you, and he called you beautiful.  All signs say he’s interested. And, the best part is, if he hurts you, I can get Jean to rough him up.

RIZA HAWKEYE, 9:45 p.m.  
I’m not sure that would work out, but I appreciate your support.

REBECCA CATALINA, 9:46 p.m.  
That’s what best friends with buff boyfriends are for, girl.  I got your back.

REBECCA CATALINA, 9:46 p.m.  
Always.

* * *

 Neither Roy nor Riza spoke about their Thermostat Wars, and their Twitter conversation moved forward as if nothing salacious had occurred.  Roy weathered the warmer temperature of his room in silence protest, comforted by the reparations he seized in recompense for his suffering, the picture of Riza and the scars that she wore so very well.  He knew he should have deleted the picture, but Roy Mustang wasn’t a saint.

No, not in the slightest.

He pulled the image up whenever his mind wandered from his studies, and with one day between him and his constitutional law final, the dam broke.  He had to take a shower, a long shower, and though Roy tried to borrow someone else’s face, he couldn’t lie to himself mid stroke. With his member in hand, Roy imagined his roommate, Riza.  He wanted to see the curve of her waist in person, not hidden under thick sweaters and blankets. He needed to know the taste of her pulse point. Would she quiver or sigh if he tenderly tugged on her earlobe with his teeth?

W hen Roy closed his eyes, he could almost see Riza kneeling before him.  Her golden tresses appeared dark and wet, resting in clumped waves; her chestnut eyes were the size of wanting saucers.  She was so ready and willing to take what he had to give. He came, harder than expected, hunched over and clutching the smooth surface of the mint colored tile with what remained of his waning strength.  Roy gasped her name softly as he shivered under the warm downpour. The evidence of the unavoidable interlude circled the drain, and his voice died down, panting. The thrum of blood coursing through his sated body echoed in his ears.

Then, there was a knock at the door.  Roy’s eyes went wide, banishing the possibility of any afterglow.  He had lost track of the time.

“Roy,” Riza said.  The mental image of his roommate naked and on her knees, licking her bottom lip clean, vanished in favor of the reality.  She was fully clothed outside the bathroom door, wondering why he was still in the shower. “Is everything ok? Jean’s here to pick you up.”

“Tell him I’ll be out in a second,” he called out hoarsely.

Roy hoped that he would be able to concentrate.


	3. Part Three

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WOW y'all! I am blown away by the response on the last chapter. It was beautiful. There was a huge smile on my face when I saw the kudo count rise, and every time I got a comment e-mail, I got a little misty-eyed.
> 
> Now, confession time. I lied. I promised three parts, but it looks like they're going to be four. On the bright side, the fourth chapter is almost entirely smut, and I'm hoping to post on Monday or Tuesday. There are just a few more kinks to work out. Pun intended.
> 
> Also, many, many thanks to [ruikosakuragi](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ruikosakuragi/works) for coming through to beta this chapter in record time and with wonderful suggestions! And I hope you guys know how much I appreciate your kudos, bookmark, subscriptions and comments. Even just an "I enjoyed this" is gold, especially during [Fanfic Comment Writing Month](https://faficowrimo.tumblr.com/). Speaking of Tumblr, check out mine at [flourchildwrites](https://flourchildwrites.tumblr.com/). Send me asks, questions, comments or whatever else may be on your mind. I always love a good ask!

If Rebecca wanted to spend time with Jean during finals week, there was only one option:  the dreaded law library. It was a place best described as a simmering cauldron of stress.  The smallest noise or, God forbid, laughter would provoke looks that could kill from the institution's inhabitants, bleary-eyed legal scholars who fancied themselves either fantastic or fucked.  As far as Rebecca could tell, there was no in-between.

Even Jean, who normally wielded an impressive amount of braggadocio, was burdened by the mood.  It manifested in a far-off look in his eyes which intensified as his first exam drew near and prompted him to jones for the cowboy killer cigarettes Rebecca had convinced him to ditch.  Rebecca’s normally colloquial boyfriend began to use words like “jurisdiction,” prescription” and “stare decisis,” terms whose meaning escaped the doting girlfriend’s comprehension even after she looked them up.

There was no way in hell Rebecca would go to law school.  Not if it was between that and garbage pick up. Not if her attendance was, somehow, the last hope for humanity's survival.  Humans had enjoyed a good run. Life would go on in some other form or fashion.

When Rebecca voiced her anti-law school sentiments to the Mustgang study room patrons, their reactions were mixed.  Falman shrugged, spouting statistics about first-year flunk outs. Breda cast a shifty gaze at his cohorts and mouthed “get out while you still can” to Rebecca behind his friend’s backs.  Alex Armstrong, a newcomer to their reserved study room, gave Rebecca a reassuring smile.

“It’s a family tradition for me,” he announced proudly, “and from everything my sister has told me, finals are nothing compared to the Bar exam.”

Sweet Jesus!  Rebecca prayed that was a bad joke.

“Do you think she’ll test on _Kelo v. New London_ ,” Roy asked Alex, “or any other cases along the lines of eminent domain?”

“It’s hard to say?” Alex responded, arms crossed in contemplation.  “But, that is one of her favorite cases to fight with father about. Nevertheless, I think you’ve got a solid grasp of the concepts and a superb recollection of different case holdings.  You’ll be fine.”

“Which is more than I can say for the rest of us,” Breda chimed in, throwing the crumpled pages of his outline on the large table.  “I don’t want to practice criminal law. Why am I forced to take Administration of Criminal Justice? ACJ sucks.”

“I rather like Income Taxation,” Falman said merrily.

“You would,” Jean responded, glaring daggers.  He turned to Rebecca with a sympathetic look in his eyes.  “What are you studying for, babe?”

“Intro to Theater,” she beamed.

“Ah,” Breda smiled.  “Those were the days.  Easy electives. Memorize some dates, see a few school productions and walk out that exam with an A.”

Roy looked up from his computer.  “Riza’s in that class,” he observed thoughtfully.  “Why aren’t you studying with her?”

Rebecca sighed, resting her chin on her interlaced fingers.  “Because she’s working on her papers and talking to some guy over Twitter.”

“That sounds shady,” Falman opined.  “Does she know him personally?”

Roy was thankful for the slightly overgrown mop of dark hair covering his ears, the tips of which were practically on fire.

“I think so,” Rebecca replied, “but she logs out of the damn app religiously.  I have no idea who it is.”

“Does he make her happy?” Roy asked out of nowhere.  Jean, Breda, and Falman turned to look at him warily.  “I mean as her roommate, the last thing I need to deal with is a lovesick undergrad during the break.  I moved out of my aunt’s place to get away from that kind of stuff.”

“You can stop looking at him like that, Jean,” Rebecca said decidedly.  “I’d be shocked if it was Roy. Does he even have a Twitter?”

“Not that I’ve seen,” Falman said.

Stodgy and prematurely gray as Falman was, in that moment, Roy could have kissed him square on the mouth, overcome by sheer gratitude.

“See,” Roy said with an air of indignance, “this is roommate-ly concern, plain and simple.”

Becca nodded in agreement.  “Besides, I really don't think she could be interested in Roy.  It’s all about mindset, you know?”

“Mindset?” Roy echoed defensively.  “I’ll have you know that I’m capable of charming anyone who’s half interested.”

Becca gritted her teeth.  “It’s not about you, Roy,” Becca explained, nervously winding a piece of curly black hair around her finger.  “It’s just… Don’t get mad, ok?”

“What’d you do, Becca?” Jean asked pointedly.  His frown was stern but his eyes were kind.

“I knew Riza would be wary about living with a guy so I might have given her the impression that Roy is gay.”

“You did what?”  Roy’s eyes narrowed angrily, fixed on Becca’s and her nervous smile.

“I didn’t say you were only into guys,” she explained frantically.  “I just mentioned your last relationship was with one and let Riza infer that you weren’t into women, but it worked.  Don’t you see? Everyone’s been saying you’ve been in a better mood and Riza’s opening up for the first time since the fire.  I want to be there for her always, but who knows where we’ll be after graduation. If telling a little white lie has helped her let other people in, then I’m not even sorry.”

The silence in the study room was tangible, thick with the murky morality behind Rebecca's confession.  Roy’s mind reeled. He was furious with Rebecca and incensed that she remained unapologetic, but the wheels were turning inside his own sleep-deprived mind.

Riza’s reluctance.  The ebb and flow of their confused chemistry.  It all made sense, and Roy could fix it. He would fix it, but first Rebecca had to be dealt with.  Good intentions aside, she had no right to lie to Riza. She had even less right to adjust the dial on his sexual preferences and otherwise meddle with his love life.

The fluorescent lights buzzed overhead, bathing the small room in harsh and cold tones, so unlike the warm glow of his and Riza’s apartment.  When Roy spoke again, the intensity of his voice rudely cut the silence. “I don’t need an apology, Rebecca, and I don't have the time to be angry.”

“Well, for Riza’s sake, I would like to put this behind us.”

“Would you?”  The lips of Roy’s mouth curled mischievously.  “Then I think we should take a walk. You tell me what I want to know about Riza - nothing major, and Riza will never find out from me that you intentionally mislead her.  Shall we?”

The sour expression on Rebecca’s face grew contemplative as she watched him gesture toward the door of the private study room.  Silently, she gathered her things, shoving her notes and laptop into her backpack with frustration behind her force. Rebecca left abruptly, followed by Roy and Jean.

Alex Armstrong, who had observed the entire bewildering exchange with no small amount of interest, chuckled deeply, neither intimidated nor put off by the conflict.  “If I had known your group was this interesting, I would have joined months ago,” he announced, clapping Falman on the back with boisterous vigor.

Breda rolled his eyes, stealing a protein bar from Jean’s unguarded backpack.  “Yeah, that walking and talking delusion of grandeur always has some angle to play.”

* * *

 REBECCA CATALINA, 8:04 p.m.  
Remind me never to study with wonderboy again.

RIZA HAWKEYE, 8:10 p.m.  
You were studying with Roy?

REBECCA CATALINA, 8:12 p.m.  
Only because Jean was there.  He’s been living at the law library lately.  His finals can’t be over soon enough.

RIZA HAWKEYE, 8:13 p.m.  
Did something happen?

REBECCA CATALINA, 8:19 p.m.  
Not really.

REBECCA CATALINA, 8:20 p.m.  
You know I love you like a sister, right?  And whatever I do, I’ve got your best interests in mind.

RIZA HAWKEYE, 8:20 p.m.  
Yeah, same here.

RIZA HAWKEYE, 8:21 p.m.  
That was out of nowhere.  Are you sure everything is ok?

REBECCA CATALINA, 8:22 p.m.  
Yep.  I’m good.  See you at the Intro to Theater final tomorrow.  10:30 a.m. in Miller Hall, right?

RIZA HAWKEYE, 8:22 p.m.  
Yes.  See you then.

* * *

 It was half-past 10 when Roy finally returned to his apartment above Curtis Coffees. He absentmindedly weaved around the bikes attached to the wrought iron gate and was surprised to find several students still crowded around the tables inside with fresh brews in hand.  A blond boy, who looked too young to be a college student, with a long braid hanging down his back animatedly exclaimed at his equally fair-haired companions. Despite the information that now weighed him down, Roy scoffed to himself, dreaming of the simplicity of his high school days, times which he now knew weren't always so simple.

“Mr. Mustang!”  Sig Curtis’s voice was deep and inviting, much like his warm but imposing figure.  Though Roy couldn’t say he knew the man well, he imagined that his son, Liam, was a lucky boy to have a father who was so kind and hardworking.  “Can I get you anything? It’s my treat.”

“Well, if you’re offering, I’d love a coffee, double sweet, but I hate to keep you.  Didn’t you close thirty minutes ago?”

Sig shrugged and nodded to the blonde boy dressed in red and black just as his son joined the table.  Liam’s tan complexion and tall, toned frame clashed with his cohorts.

“They seem so happy.  It’d be a shame to cut the visit short just because we’re closed, especially with Liam going to that fancy school so soon.  I’ll miss seeing Ed and Al; they’re like brothers to him."

“And where is Mrs. Curtis this fine evening?” Roy asked casually, accepting his coffee.

“Keeping busy.  Judging another martial arts tournament.”

“Wait a second.” Roy’s eyes flashed with sudden recognition.  “Izumi Curtis... Her maiden name’s not Harnet, is it?”

“So you’ve heard of her,” Sig observed, a wistful smirk on his lips.  “My wife’s the most beautiful and talented woman I’ve ever laid eyes on.  I’m still surprised she went for a simple guy like me.”

“She was unstoppable,” Roy reminisced.  “If you don’t mind me asking, why did she quit?”

Again, Sig’s eyes flitted to his son.  “Her pregnancy wasn't easy, and after almost losing Liam, she devoted herself entirely to him.  Between the baby and this cafe, she fell out of practice, and if Izumi can’t give something 100%-”

“-She doesn’t do it at all,” Roy supplied.

“And those who can’t do,” Sig finished, “teach.  That’s how my boy got acquainted with Ed, Al and Winry.”

“I think Mrs. Curtis would get along with my aunt,” Roy stated offhandedly.  “She’s an entrepreneur too. She owns a club downtown called The Prodigal Son.  Aunt Chris gave up a career in military intelligence to raise me when my folks died. Somehow, in her mind, running a club seemed like a better option, free days and all that.  I think she’s hoping I’ll become some hotshot attorney. It’s a lot to live up to.”

“Well, I can't speak for your aunt, but I think all of us old folks just want you kids to have it easier than we did.  We want you to be happy, but not unchallenged.”

“Seems like some of us are challenged too much,” Roy said without thinking.  His mind wandered to Riza as he considered the information he’d uncovered about the fire, Berthold Hawkeye and the dearly departed Elizabeth Grumman, her mother.

“Riza,” Sig replied knowingly, sliding a to-go cup of black coffee toward Roy with his roommate’s name scribbled on the cup.  “Now she’s a good girl. Loyal to a fault. She’d probably follow those friends of hers into hell if they needed her.”

Roy could only nod in return, staring intently at Riza’s name on the cup of coffee.  If he thought things were confusing before Rebecca dropped Riza’s story - the motherload of personal tragedy - on him, now circumstances were about as certain as Sig’s strong coffee was clear.

“Would I stand a chance with a person like her?” Roy said, somehow certain that Sig wouldn’t tell Riza he’d asked.

Sig paused for a moment, considering Roy and then answered candidly, “The better question is if you’re ready for someone like Riza.  She’s not the type to do things casually, a lot like Izumi or your aunt. Like you said earlier, people like her give 100% or nothing at all whether its business or pleasure.”

Roy bid Sig good evening and bounded up the stairs, equally thrilled and terrified by the older man’s advice.  Along with his backpack, Roy carried the weight of Riza’s secrets, his own reservations about falling for a roommate (again) and two cups of coffee, one double sweet and one boldly bitter.  Roy thought when he saw Riza he’d instantly know how to proceed, pulled instantly in one direction or another by a force greater than gravity. Was it better to let his feelings out or bury them?

He found Riza dozing on the living room couch with Hayate at her side.  The black and white pup nibbled the rest of what must have been one of Riza’s after dinner snacks.  Roy chided the dog halfheartedly, placing the incriminating plate in the sink and returned to get a better look at his roommate.  Pale eyelashes fanned delicately toward her flushed cheeks; her pink lips were parted and chapped by the biting cold. The young woman’s hair was tangled, Roy thought, but no less attractive for its unkempt appearance.  Sensing his presence, Riza stirred, eyes flitting open to expose a darling shade of chestnut brown.

“Hey,” she said groggily.

Roy opened his mouth, intent on saying something meaningful, but his resolve faltered.

“I brought you some coffee,” he offered weakly.

“Mind reader,” she responded, cheerfully accepting her late night pick me up.

If _only_ , Roy sighed internally.

* * *

 MAES HUGHES, 12:12 p.m.  
Hey stranger.

MAES HUGHES, 12:22 p.m.  
I know we haven’t spoken in a while, and I’d like to change that.

ROY MUSTANG, 1:00 p.m.  
You caught me at a bad time.  I’m in the middle of exams.

MAES HUGHES, 2:44 p.m.  
Same.  I was with an important patient.  Wish I could be more specific.

ROY MUSTANG, 3:01 p.m.  
Our relationship in a nutshell.

MAES HUGHES, 3:07 p.m.  
Gracia and I are having a party on the 23rd at 6 p.m.  Very casual. It’s sort of a Christmas/housewarming thing.  We were hoping you’d stop by.

ROY MUSTANG, 3:13 p.m.  
We?  Are you sure?

MAES HUGHES, 3:15 p.m.  
We were friends before we dated, Roy.  I think we can get there again. Gracia understands, and you can bring whoever you want.

ROY MUSTANG, 3:34 p.m.  
I’ll think about it.

MAES HUGHES, 3:36 p.m.  
That’s all I ask.

* * *

 Finals didn’t get under Riza Hawkeye’s skin.  Her grades were good in all her classes, and the papers she presented had been proofed, edited and otherwise revised so much that Riza could recite certain parts from memory.  Her exam period was only one week, a timeframe that turned out more relaxing than hectic given her stellar preparation tactics.

Riza couldn’t say the same about Roy.  His finals lasted longer, filled with ups, downs, late nights and coffee runs.  Jean featured prominently in the mania, as he was frequently present at her apartment to pick Roy up and drop Rebecca off.  Sadly, there had been little in the way of meaningful communication between the roommates during Roy’s finals. Riza chalked it up to stress as she, more so than most, knew what a bear that could be.

But then finals ended for everyone, impossible though it had seemed a month earlier.  For one bright moment, time stood at a standstill as the bars surrounding campus buzzed with color and energy, fueled by sweet relief and cash from textbook buybacks.  Business at the coffeehouse was mercifully slow. So slow, in fact, that the Curtises decided to close up shop early the entire week before Christmas.

Sadly, for Riza at least, the apartment smelled a little less like coffee in the evenings.  The scent was replaced by the delicious aroma of hot cocoa, expertly brewed by Rebecca in between marathon showings of the oldest, cheesiest Christmas movies the best friends could find.  They decorated a Christmas tree on the first night, while Jean was out shopping (no doubt for Rebecca) and Roy slept away the evening, exhausted from the trauma of his law school exams.

Rebecca never went home for Christmas right away, and for this, Riza was grateful.  The first year, it was to help Riza unpack and raid every thrift store in Central for secondhand furniture to stock her new apartment.  The second and third years, Becca did her best to fill the silence and to take Riza’s mind off the annual Christmas Eve dinner with her grandfather.  Nevertheless, like all good things, Rebecca's merry presence came to an end four days before Christmas when she departed to spend time with the Havoc clan.

“Jean and I are spending a few days with his family, and we’ll travel to see my people for Christmas Day.  I’ll be back on New Year’s Eve, unless my parents drive me crazy first,” Becca pronounced as she prepared to depart on the evening of the 20th.

“It’s good you’re spending the holidays with Jean,” Riza stated, happy for her friend’s good fortune, if not the tiniest bit resentful.

“Well, you’re always welcome to join us at my parent’s place for Christmas dinner.”

“I couldn’t impose,” Riza replied.

Rebecca knew better than to argue.  “Will you be alright here by yourself?” she asked.

“I’m not all alone,” Riza retorted with a forced smile.  “I have Hayate and Roy, and there’s always my grandfather if I get desperate.”

“ _Wonderboy_ …” Becca asserted sardonically with an eye roll.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Riza inquired, puzzled by Rebecca’s sudden about-face.

“Nothing.”  She was a little too quick to respond.

When Rebecca finally left, she took the laughter with her, as usual, and amidst the lonely silence Riza allowed her mind to wander.  Though surprisingly, she didn’t think about her mother, the darling ghost of Christmas past, nearly as much as before. Roy flitted in and out of the apartment sporadically, either off shopping or helping out at his aunt’s club in the evening.  Riza steeled herself for the moment he’d walk through the door with a holiday beau in tow, but the dreaded event never occurred.

However, their conversations grew increasingly straightforward and congenial on Roy’s end.  Riza had nearly given up hope in that department. Then finally, the connection sparked to life again.

@TooHotToHandle:  What would you say if I asked you to go to a Christmas party with me on the 23rd

@HotShotHawk96:  Ask me, and we’ll find out.

@TooHotToHandle:  Do you want to go to a Christmas Party with me on the 23rd?

@HotShotHawk96:  I dunno Roy. That’s tomorrow, and I might have to stay home and wash my hair.

@TooHotToHandle:  Or you could come out to my ex’s awkward Christmas party that he's hosting with his girlfriend.  Should be amusing, if nothing else.

@HotShotHawk96:  Why would you want to go to that?

@TooHotToHandle:  Because Maes and I were friends first, and I think seeing the apartment again will give me some closure.   

@TooHotToHandle:  C’mon. You haven’t moved from the living room couch since Rebecca left.  You must be bored.

@HotShotHawk96:  Not true. I ate lunch in the kitchen this afternoon, and I plan to sleep in my bedroom tonight if it doesn’t feel like a freezer in there.

@TooHotToHandle:  I’ll let you turn the thermostat up to 73, and I’ll take out the garbage for a week if you come with me.  It’ll be 30 minutes at the most.

@HotShotHawk96:  Do I have to wear a dress, and can I bring Hayate?

@TooHotToHandle:  No to the dress. Of course to Hayate.  I will tell Maes not to pet him.

@HotShotHawk96:  Two weeks for the garbage and the thermostat.

@TooHotToHandle:  Sold. Pick you up at 6 tomorrow?

@HotShotHawk96:  You know where to find me.

@TooHotToHandle:  Just so you know, I would’ve given you three weeks.

@HotShotHawk96:  It’s not too late to bargain for a dress.

@TooHotToHandle:  I’ll think about it.

* * *

 Roy never had the patience for soul searching or signs.  Finals had been a convenient excuse to take his mind off Riza, and thereafter he consoled himself that she was too busy with Rebecca to want anything to do with him.  Like the club’s namesake, Roy returned to The Prodigal Son night after night to help his aunt behind the bar and ward unworthy customers away from the upper rooms reserved for gold status members.

Yet, despite the bar’s festive red and green backlighting and the hourly renditions of “Santa Baby” performed by the Madame’s staff of temptresses, Roy’s mood was sullen.  He bussed the hightop tables surrounding the dancefloor with a frown and dolled out strong drinks sans his usual charisma as the music swelled and women writhed seductively within polished silver cages.  More than once, Roy caught himself pulling out his phone to tell Riza about something he’d seen, but he pocketed the device each time with an assurance to his fellow staff that he was simply checking the time.

Nevertheless, Madame Christmas, or Aunt Chris as Roy knew her, was far too perceptive.

“You’re not still moping about that Hughes boy, are you?” she asked pointedly while closing one evening.

“No,” Roy replied.

The older woman was dressed decadently (some would say garishly) in an off the shoulder red velvet dress with pearls dripping from her ears and neck.  She slid her nephew a fresh gin and tonic while balancing a cigarette between her lips as she wiped the stainless steel counter for the final time that evening.  Despite the late hour, the madame’s makeup was flawless, showcasing the strong jawline and high cheekbones of a woman who had once turned more than a few heads during her younger, slimmer days.

“Then who’s on your mind, son?  You’ll never get laid with a sour face like that.”

“Why are you so concerned about me getting laid?”

“I’m not. I taught you to take care of your body,” she said shrewdly.  “I worry about that heart of yours.”

Roy paused while sweeping the floor to take a swig of his drink, wincing at the drunken juniper berry’s afterburn.  He was a good liar, but his aunt could squeeze blood from a stone. Best to come clean. “It’s my roommate, again, and trust me, I know how it looks.”

“How does it look?”  Madame Christmas asked, blowing smoke from her smoldering cigarette out the corner of her mouth.

“Like I’m taking advantage of our living situation.”

“Well, aren’t you?  Isn’t she?” the aged lady asked, cocking an eyebrow at her foster son.  “That old nursery rhyme about love, marriage and then the baby carriage puts things in an unrealistic order.  So you’re attracted to your roommate again. That’s life.”

“I guess, but-”

“What have I told you about backbone, Roy-boy,” Aunt Chris interjected, cutting her nephew off before his doubts could eat at him.  “You’ll never get anywhere without showing some. Ask her out and get to the bottom of it before you get too deep into this crush. Though honestly, I’m just thankful this is about something other than that Hughes boy.  You might even bring this one around here once in a while if she likes you back. Let me get a good read on her, and maybe you’ll listen this time around.”

“And what if she doesn’t appreciate your profession, or she can’t handle all this law school baggage I’ve got,” Roy shot back angrily.

“Don’t project Maes’s insecurities onto her,” the lady demanded.  “I told you when you first started dating him that his type always prefers conventional relationships when push comes to shove.  You are not conventional, no matter what is or isn’t between your partner’s legs. Let the woman decide for herself. And if you’re not going to do anything about it, stop sighing so much.  It depresses our customers.”

So, like a good son, Roy did as he was told.  He asked Riza out, in a manner of speaking, and found himself, dressed in his best buffalo plaid shirt, standing at the threshold of her bedroom door at 5:56 p.m. on December 23.  The little voice inside his head told him to knock, but Roy’s hands hesitated. He didn’t want to be the type of person who left Riza when she needed him most, like her mother who died far too young and her father who was gone well before he took his last breath.  Finally, in for pound, not a penny, Roy rapped his knuckles against Riza’s door.

When it swung open, he nearly forgot how to breathe.

* * *

 If there was one no-fail scenario in which one could meet their ex again, this was it.  Roy’s palms grew moist with perspiration as he firmly grasped the steering wheel of his sedan.  He struggled to keep his eyes on the road instead of the gorgeous creature next to him. Without the slightest bit of competition, Riza was the prettiest damn thing he’d seen since the last time he’d had Maes under him, and she wasn't even naked.

It was the high neckline of her green sweater dress, paired with black tights and boots, that had him enthralled.  She wore her hair down for the first time in a long time, she said. It fell bluntly over her shoulders to the middle of her back without the slight hint of a curl.  And for all the contouring, priming and primping Riza could have done, she refrained, wearing only the tiniest traces of pressed powder, mascara and blush. Her gold earrings winked at Roy in the ambient light of the passing cars.  Staring was the only sensible thing to do.

“Mistletoe,” Riza stated.

“What?”

“My earrings,” she said brightly.  “I see you looking at them. They’re shaped like mistletoe.  My grandfather gave them to me a few years ago. I’m happy to have an occasion to wear them.”

“Seems like an odd gift from a grandfather,” Roy replied, thankful that they hadn't come from some former flame.

“We’re an odd family,” Riza explained.  “I don’t know him very well, even though he’s my only family.  He probably thought they were pretty, and my mother always wore stuff like this.  Grandfather says I remind him of her.”

“In a good way?”

“In a way,” she stated with finality.  Roy didn’t push. He’d learned this much from Rebecca.

They arrived at the complex a fashionable 15 minutes past the start of the party.  Roy keyed in the code to the complex’s lot and was rewarded with a premium parking in the sole visitor’s spot for unit number 313.  It felt strange to return to a place he’d lived so recently. The familiarity of the building was undeniable, but surprisingly Roy found that the thing which had changed the most wasn’t made of brick and mortar; it was him.

Gracia answered the door on the third knock, tastefully dressed in a red cowl neck sweater and pressed black pants.  She smiled sweetly, hugging Roy as if he was an old family friend coming to call, and when her eyes turned to Riza, a smirk appeared at the corner of her mouth.  Gracia took in Riza’s tight curves and understated dress with the smallest amount of contempt. Nevertheless, she extended her hand in grand fashion, voice dripping with mother’s milk and honey.

“And who is this, Roy?” Gracia asked coyly.  Without leaving room for a reply, her voice plowed ahead, over the hubbub of the party.  “Maes told me you were bringing a friend with a service animal. He never said it would be someone so…”

“Female?” Riza asked.  Roy inwardly chuckled at Riza’s brazenness.

“Lovely,” Gracia finished, extending her hand.  “I’m Gracia Martinez, Maes’s girlfriend. Welcome to our apartment.”

“Riza Hawkeye,” she supplied, notably failing to qualify her presence, “and this is Hayate.  Thank you for your hospitality.”

Gracia ushered her guests inside, whisking their coats and Riza’s purse off to “the extra bedroom.”  And while the former tenant noticed that the airy place was largely unchanged, except for a few feminine knick-knacks here and there, he immediately lamented the addition of white satin curtains, ironed within an inch of their existences and falling into an elegantly crumpled heap at ground level.  Despite the darkness of night, Roy felt a shift in his bones; he knew that the light would never look like it had in his old apartment. Gone was the feeling of hearth and home, replaced by paisley patterned pillows with teal and gold accents.

“Nice place,” Riza said, leaning close to her companion’s ear.  The young man breathed deeply, catching the fresh scent of lavender with hints of mint toothpaste.  Roy cleared his throat.

“It was,” he replied.

Roy scanned the party, looking for a familiar face.  His eyes swept across countless professional colleagues and family friends, chatting congenially over bottles of beer and small cups of wine.  Near the kitchen island, Roy spotted a bespectacled boy-ish face accompanied by a familiar brown bob. Without thinking, he grasped Riza’s hand and guided her toward the kitchen.

“Kain!”  Roy exclaimed, heading toward the island.  “Sheska!”

The mismatched pair turned, looking for the source of the sound, and their faces brightened as they spotted Roy Mustang.  Kain, decked out in his trademark skinny jeans with decorative suspenders, was first to bring Roy in for a hug. Sheska, dressed festively in black, gave Roy a cooler reception.  Yet, her reserved side hug did more to warm the room than the gaggles of other attendees dressed boldly by comparison.

“Good lord,” Sheska greeted, bringing a beer bottle to her lips, “it’s been a while.  Where’ve ya been, Roy?”

“Law library,” he answered apologetically.

“Well, who’s this?” Kain interjected, turning toward Riza.  “You look familiar. I think we had some classes together.”

Roy winced, chastising himself for not introducing Riza first.  “Where are my manners? This is Riza Hawkeye,” - _my date_ , he thought.  “She’s a journalism major.  Riza, this is Kain and Sheska, friends from undergrad.”

Kain’s eyes flashed eagerly behind his horn-rimmed glasses.  “A fellow mass comm junkie! Broadcast or print? I was broadcast, graduated last year.”

“Print,” Riza answered shyly.  “And oh, this is my dog, service dog, Hayate.”

“Cute fella,”  Sheska cut in. She gazed sweetly at the dog, fighting the urge to scratch him between his ears.

“I can’t believe Maes asked you to move out only two weeks before finals,” Kain observed in a soft, low tone.  “It’s not like the Maes I know at all.”

“It was time,” Roy stated, and he knew it was the truth.  “Maes did offer to leave, but I chose to go instead. His parents found this condo for us in the first place, and I knew Gracia wanted to move in; it seemed fair.”

“Where are you living now?” Sheska inquired.

Roy began to say that he was living with Riza, but his attention faltered, focusing instead on the woman standing by his side.  It felt right for her to be there, not in Maes and Gracia’s apartment, but standing near him, watching his back as he looked ahead of them.  And just like that, Roy knew that Gracia had been right when she said he’d laugh about the whole situation one day, though certainly not in the way she intended.  Riza was the best thing to happen to Roy in a long time, and if he couldn’t be jolly about something like that, then he couldn't rightly call himself human.

To be mortal was to be flawed, to try and fail and try again, all in the hopes of finding that which soothed the soul, making man complete.  And if ever there was grace in failure, Riza was it, a beautiful disaster who was better for her struggles, who felt deeply and trusted endlessly, whether or not Roy deserved her company at all.  Roy chuckled as he considered his grand stroke of luck and realized that he was still holding Riza’s hand.

Another happy accident, he mused.  A small gesture, born out of convenience rather than intent.  Yet, she hadn’t pulled away, and if there was any doubt about Riza’s presence as just his roommate or as a date, Roy felt the desperate need to quell it, then and there.  He needed to tell Riza what he now knew as fact: Roy wanted more than entertaining messages, stolen looks and long showers, and he had to tell her with actions rather than words.

Though Roy’s fingers were warm and sated in Riza’s, his hands were _hungry_ again.  Carefully, ever so slowly, he withdrew from the comfortable clasp and slid his hand around the small of her back.  Riza stiffened, her body thrumming as Hayate was altered by a sharp intake of breath. Yet, just as he was about to withdraw, wondrously, miraculously, Roy felt her lean into his palm.  Delicious pressure built as Roy possessively cradled the curve of her slender waist; Riza leaned into his body heat with a softened posture. She reassuringly tugged on Hayate’s leash to calm her companion.

Everything was falling into place again; Roy held fast to a new vision hanging on the horizon. At the thought, the young man swallowed thickly, his Adam's apple bobbing in defiance of his dry lips and taut throat.  Beside him, Riza also stirred, sighing so softly that Roy would have thought he imagined it but for her pounding pulse. Kain and Sheska exchanged a knowing look.

“I’m living in a place above Curtis Coffees, right outside the Southgate of campus.  The parking is a challenge, but it’s a nice place. Cozy, warm, excellent water pressure,” Roy said cheekily.

Ever observant, Sheska began to ask the question that was also on the tip of Kain’s tongue.  “And how long have you two been-”

“Roy Mustang!”

A booming voice sounded from just behind the quartet, cutting off Sheska’s question mid-sentence.  Maes Hughes approached with a glass of red wine in hand and a festive Christmas sweater draped over his white button down.  Roy’s grip on Riza tightened possessively as he stuck out his left hand to meet his former roommate’s formal greeting.

“So glad you could make it!” Maes said, shaking Roy’s hand.  “So this is your-”

Roy cut Maes off before he could finish his sentence by saying either “roommate” or “friend,” both damning words that could wipe the slate clean of the progress he’d managed to make.

“Riza.  This is my Riza,” Roy interrupted, almost playfully.  He carefully avoided looking at Riza for fear of breaking the spell.

“Nice to meet you Roy’s Riza.  Have you started accounting for all the ladies, Roy?” Maes quipped charmingly.

“No,” Roy responded with a perturbed intonation.  “Besides, Riza is one of a kind. Riza, this is Maes, my old roommate.”

Riza warily shook Maes’s hand.  “Pleased to meet you,” she managed formally, eyes flitting downward.

Maes remained undeterred.  “And this must be your little guy,” he added, voice dripping with the easy charm that had made Roy fall so fast all those years ago.  Maes surveyed Hayate thoughtfully, pressing his thumb to his chin. “You know, I wish I saw more service dogs in my practice. He’s so well behaved but still remarkably alert.  Until I heard him bark a minute ago, I had no idea you’d arrived. I do hope everything is under control in that department.”

“It is, and we haven’t been here that long,” Riza supplied, relaxed by the compliment Maes laid at her pup’s paws.  “I got lucky with Hayate. What’s your practice?”

“I’m a family therapist,” Maes answered, “or at least I will be one day when they take my training wheels off.  Hayate’s not the only one on a leash around here. Which, please, feel free to remove if you like. I doubt he’s the kind of dog to go straight for the buffet.”

“Not anymore, but you might be surprised,” Riza retorted.  She bent down and unclipped her dog’s leash from his harness.  Hayate gratefully rubbed his head against Riza’s arm in response, panting happily.  “When I first got him, he was still a puppy, and he got into his fair share of trouble.”

“Sweet Pea, my dog, has her moments too,” Kain chimed in.  “I can’t play my guitar inside anymore without her barking.  If I want to record, I have to go outside and compete with the crickets.”

Unsurprisingly, dogs behaving badly was a relatable subject, just the kind of lead-in that created easy conversation amongst the party of five.  Before Roy knew it an hour had passed, and all four friends found themselves lounging on the living room sectional. Roy handed Riza a glass of his favorite rosé, passing an additional sampling to Kain with less consideration.  Though it was out of season, Maes had insisted they try it, and only Sheska had the gumption to decline.

The wine was tart, but the company was sweet, especially Riza who sat with Roy’s arm thrown over her shoulders.  She laughed sociably at Kain and Sheska’s recollections of terrible professors and good times. The wine colored her cheeks from the inside out - a testament to her assertion that she didn't drink much. Or maybe it was a blush caused the same flustered feeling that hung heavy in Roy’s abdomen.  A beguiled feeling overtook his better judgment, drunk on Riza’s scent and the way her breath caught when he whispered mundane nothings in her ear. It was too much and not enough all at once, the nervous rush before the fall.

But then - as before - came Gracia.  She tugged at Maes’s elbow with a cheery expression that belied her pointed stare.  “Now Maes,” she said sweetly, “you’ve delighted this group long enough. I’m sure they’re bored to tears with you by now.”

A look of disappointment flashed across Maes’s brow, replaced by an expression of understanding and obligation.  He stood, ready to make his excuses when Roy decided to beat him to the punch. “Actually it’s getting late,” Roy cut in, standing.  “Riza and I better get going.”

Kain looked crestfallen, and he threw back the rest of his rosé to drown the disappointment of a good conversation ending prematurely.  Conversely, Sheska glanced up from her smartphone, excited by the possibility that her ride might be interested in leaving sometime soon.  “We should get going too, Kain,” she announced empathetically.

The friends parted ways with murmurs of agreement and empty promises that they would see one another soon.  Hugs, handshakes and other platitudes of gratitude sealed the pact of social separation as Maes, Kain, Sheska and Roy formally parted ways.  And Roy knew, if Gracia had any sway, he, Kain and Sheska would find themselves relegated to the realm of friendly acquaintances who were only invited to large gatherings such as weddings or funerals.  For if such a small party was ever held again, Gracia would undoubtedly remind Maes that they hadn't mixed and mingled well with the couple’s new circle of social equals.

“My coat and purse,” Riza mused aloud, scanning the living room for her things.

“They’re in the spare room,” Gracia chimed in as Maes drifted off to mingle with a few colleagues from work. “Allow me to ge-”

“Don’t trouble yourself,” Roy cut her off.  He softened his tone, attempting to salvage what was left of her good graces.  “You have guests, and I think I can find it.”

* * *

The hallway leading to the spare room felt longer than it was, and Riza’s mind was reeling.  Not from the alcohol, though the crisp aftertaste of pink wine softened the edges of Roy’s latest actions.  He had held her hand, wrapped his arm around her waist and muttered words in her ear that scrambled her thoughts.  There was a subtle Xingese lit to his voice that she hadn’t noticed before. It made her confused and anxious and _angry ._

How dare he.  How dare he toy with her like this.  And there were moments where she felt her heart flutter when Roy pulled her close to his side.  In those moments, it felt genuine.

That was the worst part of it all.  Riza’s breath quickened; her heartbeat surged.  Again, the hallway elongated as a sickening dizziness set in.  She almost didn't hear the sound of Hayate barking, but Roy did as he closed the door behind them.

“Are you alright?” Roy said, though Riza only registered the words at the bottom of a gravity well. She sunk down to the floor and allowed Hayate, her faithful companion, to crawl into her lap.  His fur was thick and warm; it carried the faint but comforting scent of their apartment. The dog’s body shook steadily with his rhythmic panting. Her breathing slowed.

“Riza,”  Roy’s voice was steady, as calm as ever in the midst of the difficult situation, but there was an alarmed look in his eyes.  “Are you okay? Are you with me?”

“I don’t know,” Riza replied, becoming vaguely away of her surroundings.  “Am I?”

The room came into focus.  A delicate vanity against a neutral gray wall.  A daybed piled high with winter coats and purses.  A single wide window set inside a wall of exposed brick.  It dawned on Riza that this was Roy’s old room, now a repository for Gracia’s forgotten furniture.

“Are you what?”

“Am I _with_ you,” Riza emphasized, nuzzling Hayate, “here tonight?  Did I come here as a roommate or a friend? Am I your fake girlfriend or just someone you like to flirt with when you get bored?”Roy didn’t respond immediately.  He stood back, hands hooked into the front pockets of his khakis with a troubled expression pulling at the corner of his thin lips. His shoulders slumped, losing the tall and confident posture which seemed to come so easily to him.

“Are you interested in me?” Roy rasped.  He weaved his fingers through his wayward hair and shifted uncomfortably.  “I know this is rich,” he said with a derisive chuckle, “but I can’t… If you could just tell me.”

Riza released Hayate and looked up to meet Roy’s eyes, finding them shadowed with doubt and indecision.  “Tell you what? That I think about you more than I should? That I jump when I hear my phone buzz, or that I think I’ve heard you gasp my name in the bathroom?”

“Walls are that thin, huh?”

“They are.”

“You should've warned me.”

Riza stood and moved a step closer with an exasperated look as if to remind Roy that now was not the time for humor.  “My point is that I’m not sure of myself some days, and if you’re questioning your sexuality, I’m not the right person to test a theory with.  I can’t do casual, Roy. I won't pretend when it comes to my heart.”

“I’m not pretending.”  And with those words, Roy closed the distance between himself and Riza, tenderly cupping her face and running his thumb over her bottom lip.  She exhaled in a shiver that ran the length of her spine. “And I’m not confused either.”

Roy angled his head to match Riza’s and closed the distance deliberately, slowly, and with the full knowledge that there was no going back to just roommates, simple friends or people that flirted with each other from behind the safety of a computer screen.  Mouths met and lips parted. Riza’s hands gripped the thick fabric of Roy’s wrinkled button down as she embraced a kiss that was neither gentle nor rough. It was intentional, saying with actions what words failed to express.

Roy liked Riza, and Riza liked Roy.  And it was both that simple and entirely too complicated.  Their lips pressed and moved, taking the time to learn from one another, to savor the matching taste of dry wine on their breaths.

Riza felt herself stumble backward against the gray wall, and Roy followed suit, bracing himself with his free hand pressed against the sheetrock.  He pushed his body into hers, careful not to crush the feminine fist still grasping his shirt for dear life. Riza felt the firm definition of his chest and arms, his muscles contracting while holding her so gently.  Nevertheless, Roy’s hold on her was certain. His tongue moved possessively against hers in time with the thrumming of Riza’s body. She was a willing vessel waiting to be replenished by the affection Roy so wanted to give.  And when he pulled back, panting with a pink mouth from kissing her senseless, Roy said three words that made Riza’s heart sing.

“Definitely not gay.”


	4. Part Four (the smut)

Roy promised himself that he wouldn’t sleep with a person so soon after their first kiss, not again.  He’d been young with Maes and easily overcome by a dangerous cocktail of lust and newfound freedom.  Now older with more experience and restraint, Roy resigned himself to a hot shower, armed with the drive to prove to Riza that this wasn’t some passing fling.  There would be dates, introductions and afternoons at the dog park before anything more than heavy petting happened.

 _Foolish boy_ , as Aunt Chris would say.  Roy knew he’d lied to himself as soon as they reached the first red light on the short drive home.  Riza’s fingers tangled with his atop the gearshift, and when stealing a glance at her, Roy felt the tension surge.  Even in half darkness, he could see how she looked at him and damned if he didn't feel something frighteningly similar.  This, whatever _this_ was, had gravity, meaning.  And when she asked, coyly, if the driver’s seat went back any farther, Roy took his aunt’s advice to heart.  The order of events didn’t matter, not as long as the journey was worthwhile. He told her he couldn’t wait to find out.

There was a fire in Riza, a smoldering drive that Roy had only caught glimpses of before.  And despite the scant privacy afforded by the fogged windows of his parked car, Roy allowed himself to be taken in by the feeling of her bare skin under his hands.  He dared to delve beneath the hem of her sweater dress, now bunched around her hips as she straddled his lap in the driver’s seat. The realistic hope of finally knowing the curve of her waist more intimately than he would have dared before that fateful kiss provoked a deep moan which rattled in his chest as Riza’s teeth tugged on his lower lip.

They finally managed to leave the car when the cold encroached on the backseat and Hayate barked to voice his discomfort.  Through the wrought iron gates they traveled hand in hand, Riza practically dragging Roy with an urgency that made his longing seem cheap by comparison.  As she pinned him against the stairwell wall, Roy wondered how long she’d denied herself the touch of a lover. And being, in his own opinion, the more levelheaded of the two, Roy broke this kiss to tell Riza the things that lovers should know.

“Four months,” Roy gasped before he lost his nerve.

Riza looked at him quizzically with a flushed face.  Her restless fingers tugged on the buttons of his coat.  “What?”

“It’s been four months since I last slept with Maes, even though we’ve been broken up for a year and a half.  I’ve been with five people total. Three guys and two girls, and the last time I slept with a woman was a year ago, a one night stand after which I got tested.  I might be rusty, but I know I’m clean.”

As a reward for his honesty, Roy dove back down for another feverish liplock.  His hand palmed Riza’s backside, earning a moan that Roy suspected had been building since the first time her eyes trailed down the hard earned “V” on his abdomen.  A melodic laugh followed when she broke their kiss to reply.

“I’m clean too,” she said, pulling him up the stairs toward the door of their apartment.  “Only two, both men. And it’s been so long. I didn't even think to-” Riza stopped suddenly with her key in the lock.

“Oh no.”

It was Roy’s turn to chuckle.  From behind her, he buried his head in Riza’s neck, welcomed by the same lavender scent that entranced him on the car ride to the party.  His lips sucked at her delicate skin thoughtfully, as if to slow the pace of their frantic flight out the car and up the stairs.

“There’s no pressure,” he whispered in her ear, subtly adjusting the tenting in his pants.  “I wasn’t planning on anything happening. I swear. I wasn’t even sure you’d think of this as a date.”

“I didn’t,” Riza replied.  She jerked their door open and ushered both Roy and Hayate inside.  “Until this evening I thought you were gay.”

“Whoever gave you that idea?” Roy asked cheekily.

“ _Whoeve_ r indeed,” Riza observed shrewdly. “Somehow, I think you already know.”

She locked the deadbolt with a flick of her wrist and turned suddenly to rest against the cold wood, chest visibly rising and falling as she regarded Roy with a hunger he’d also been battling.  “I want more, Roy, but I’m not... prepared.”

“I have condoms and patience, just tell me which it is you need,” Roy added inartfully, lightly grasping Riza’s hands and bringing her in for an agonizingly slow kiss.  She shuffled off her coat and pressed her body against his. With fewer barriers than before, Roy felt the peaks of her hardened nipples through the ribbed fabric of her dress.  He longed to ghost his thumbs over the telling protrusions and let her hands explore him in kind.

But not yet.

“It’s not that,” Riza said sheepishly.  “I haven’t-” She faltered and shut her eyes purposefully.  She winced, searching for linguistic purchase in a mind muddled by the possibility of intimacy.  “Would you wait? Can I jump in the shower?”

“I’d wait, or I could shower with you,” Roy responded suggestively, pushing his luck.  His eyes traced the lines of her mouth, thumb grazing her bottom lip. “There are some things I’ve been thinking about.”

Riza’s eyes fluttered shut, and she exhaled slowly.

“Too much?” he asked, nose wrinkling.

“Quite the opposite,” she answered.  “Can you give me, like, 10 minutes? Then knock?”

10 minutes, days, weeks or months.  Hell, he might even wait years. Roy pulled away, hoping that distance wouldn’t harm their fledgling relationship.

“Take all the time you want.”

* * *

The water was warm and the steam thick in their small bathroom as Riza’s shaving cream circled the drain, along with any lingering doubts.  She hesitated when Roy knocked, half convinced that she’d passed through the veil into some alternate universe where good things happened to balance the bad.  However disorienting the evening had been, Riza held fast to two truths.

The first was that she liked Roy.  She liked how he pushed her. Yet, like Becca, he seemed to know where Riza had drawn the line in the sand, even when she herself was uncertain.  And second, Riza knew her cup was half empty, and her sheets had been cold for over a year. Bringing herself to the brink of orgasm was like clockwork, almost clinical at times and disappointingly predictable.  The loneliness was worse, and against all odds, these were things Roy might be able to remedy if she took a leap of faith and let him in.

Roy was not predictable, not one fucking bit.  His hands were rougher than hers with calloused fingertips that teased her skin, and his tongue - Oh his tongue!  If their kissing was any indication, Roy’s mouth seemed up to a job that hadn’t been done in far too long, and Riza had every intention of changing that as soon as possible.  But more than anything, Roy had that inexplicable something which made Riza’s pulse flutter. For all the pretty words she could string together, Riza struggled to chronicle the thought process that swam through her mind when he kissed her senseless, and she wanted more of that.  So much more that her response was unequivocal.

“Come in.”

Roy obliged, and a draft provoked gooseflesh on the blonde’s soaked skin.  With wet clumped hair and a bare face, she peeked around the back of her shower curtain to find a clothed Roy Mustang, waiting and watching in a white t-shirt and a familiar pair of leisure pants.  Riza bit her lip again. The slight cock of his head and the crook of his lazy smile make her squirm, legs pressing together to quell the heat growing at her center.

“Join me?” Riza asked, intoning the question with her voice and a demand with her eyes.

Roy obliged enthusiastically as if this final invitation was a Godsend.  He pulled his shirt over his head and stepped out of the soft fabric of his pants, without caring where his clothes fell.  Riza licked her bitten lips as he stepped into the shower facing her. And having set eyes on the cock she shamelessly spent the better part of a half hour grinding against in his car, she became acutely aware of her own nakedness.

But Riza lost the ability to dwell on how uncovered she was underneath the forceful stream of water when Roy caught her mouth in another searing kiss.  She leaned into him, breasts flush with the hard lines of his chest and one arm hooked around his neck for leverage as their tongues massaged one another with more familiarity than before.  Riza’s right hand trailed down his side stopping at the place where his skin puckered in a mess of harsh red tones; she pressed her digits against the ridges of it, feeling Roy’s stomach contract and hearing a sharp intake of breath.

For his part, Roy had not wasted time.  His hands had moved against the downward flow of water and between their bodies.  He pulled back, just enough to touch her breasts again, this time with fewer inhibitions and more motivation.  To match Roy’s gasp, Riza mewled, just as taken with the way he rolled her taut nipples between his fingers. He lavished attention on her chest, and her head lolled to the side, allowing him to kiss her throat’s supple skin.  Roy sucked harder than before to mark the place where her neck elegantly curved into her shoulder, and Riza’s shoulders relinquished the burdens of her celibate lifestyle like it was a bad habit.

Their kisses intensified when Roy returned to her lips.  Saliva mixed and mingled with the shower’s steady stream, still hot despite the passage of time.  But then, much to Riza’s dismay, Roy pulled back to meet her eyes, and it was a look she understood as a question.   _Go further_ , she answered without words or writings, and against all odds, he heard her.  Not a moment too soon, Riza’s attention shifted lower, to the swelling cock pulsating against her leg and to her own wetness, so different from the water running down her back.

With a heady smirk, Roy watched Riza’s eyes glaze over as his hand traveled south.  His fingers snaked down the subtle curve of her belly, over her abdomen and across skin that felt too smooth to be neglected.  Roy’s calluses made Riza’s body brim with excitement, and he obliged her left leg to rise, wrapping itself loosely around his waist.  Roy’s devilish grin widened as he stroked her lips, and she braced herself better against his body, showing him the full effect of his efforts.

“How long has it been,” he asked playfully, and Riza wondered if he knew that he’d nearly robbed her of the power of speech as her pleasure swelled.

“Almost a year,” she moaned honestly, hips canting to encourage his movements.

Roy tutted in reply.  “That won’t do.”

Again, Roy brought his mouth to her neck as his digits delved deeper, thumb exploring her hood, waiting for a telltale gasp that was weeks overdue.  After a flurry of pressure and prods in quickening circular motions, Roy hit his mark, her swollen clit. Simultaneously, his long fingers moved languidly in and out of her entrance obliging her body to quiver and tighten.  The pleasurable ache in her abdomen intensified as Roy administered his remedy, and the faster he paced himself, the harder it was to quiet her moans or balance her body. Roy clutched her waist tightly as she came on his fingers, and his strokes slowed as Riza rode the tremors of her overdue orgasm. Steadily, Roy’s hand worked until the set of her spine softened and her leg dropped to bear weight again.

Riza pressed her forehead against in the crook of Roy’s neck.  She smiled, really smiled, as she reveled in her own pleasure and chuckled headily in shotgun gasps.  He held her, arousal evident but restrained in light of Riza’s moment. With a featherlight touch, Roy traced the ragged perimeter of the scar that marked her back, rinsing his hand in the waning supply of hot water.

“You good?” he asked, with as thoughtful a tone as he could muster.

“Oh yes,” Riza responded.  The sharp edge of her intellect came into focus once more, and a curious line from earlier that evening rattled around in her satisfied mind.   _There are some things I’ve been thinking about._  Roy might have even forgotten he said it.  At least, Riza hoped so.

“Tell me what you think about in this shower,” she whispered in his ear.

Roy tensed.  “We’re… not in the right position.”

“Easy to fix.”

Riza took the initiative, stepping sideways and around to shift their figures, however awkwardly, inside the tight space.  Roy moved backward, easing himself into the shower’s stream and sighing contentedly when the warm water coated him from the neck down.  He’d been cold, Riza realized, even as he’d played her body like a fiddle. Though she usually scoffed at the idea that one happy ending deserved another, she wanted Roy to writhe under the power she chose to wield.   And despite the chill that crept over Riza’s skin, she also wanted to make Roy feel as good as she had.

“So, what happens next?” she urged.

Roy paused, almost taken aback by the boldness of what Riza was asking of him.  Gone was the timid girl who buckled under the pressure of an unpleasant revelation.  She had always been much more than that. Her brazen persona had merely been waiting in the wings for its long-awaited curtain call, an encore for one that Roy had asked for somewhere along the way.

“You stroke me.”

“Stroke, what?” She feigned ignorance, enjoying the idea that Roy’s usual wits were not about him.

“My dick,” he answered desperately, and Riza kindly obliged, wrapping a small hand around his cock.

It was thicker and harder than she had expected, and when Riza looked down, she made the mental connection between his swollen veins and the throbbing lines pressed against her palm.  More familiar with handjobs than sex itself, Riza pushed forward, confidently pulling tips from her muddled memory and encouraged by Roy’s impromptu grunt when her thumb flicked underneath his head.  She stroked him again and again, finding a pleasing rhythm and watching Roy’s face relax and contort under her ministrations. For good measure, Riza kissed him hard, catching his bottom lip as before with even greater effect.  But this station of the narrative was only a prelude, as evident by the next phrase Roy struggled to utter.

“Then, you get on your knees.”

Riza checked her surprise, swapping it for a curiously raised eyebrow as she kneeled in front of his tight and toned figure.  The whole affair was utterly submissive at first blush, and yet, Riza felt powerful as she licked Roy’s length, coating it in viscous saliva, delighting in the pleasure she could choose to give or withhold.  Their eye contact was electric, and Riza had to tear her chestnut orbs away from the dark pools of lust that Roy had for her. Carefully, she handled him again, taking his member in slowly and stroking the inches that her gag reflex denied entrance.  This time Roy’s breath caught, and his head tilted backward, arm extending to brace himself against the tile.

It wasn’t the best blowjob, Riza rationalized as she hollowed her cheeks and adjusted to the taste of salty precum on her tongue.  However, she wouldn't have known that from the way Roy continued to react. He moaned her name just like before when things were so uncertain and confusing.  His voice sounded almost reverent. Roy’s hips pulsed, subtly at first and then sharply, obliging Riza to quicken her pace. Within minutes, Roy’s panting grew fevered, and not a second too soon, he tapped on her shoulder while mumbling slurred words of warning to signal the start of his release.

Riza had a split second decision to make, but she relished the moment while glancing up at Roy with a devious spark in her doe eyes.  He was nearly hunched over and desperate for his climax, sharp features framed by damp strands of impossibly dark hair. Roy was a contradiction, a maze of cunning angles, unexpected softness and, above all else, a challenge to the dreary status quo.  And as Riza considered him, her eyes urged him to come, still bobbing and sucking with conviction.

The sensation was neither familiar nor foreign.  As all things remembered, it took time to place the tense twitch accompanied by the sound of her name repeated passionately on loop.  The taste of his cum was acidic, bitter and thick as it slid down Riza’s throat. She nursed him through and then wiped her mouth as she stood face-to-face with Roy, basking in their shared afterglow.  Through his unruly, wet fringe, he grinned lazily and pulled Riza in close to nuzzle her neck once more.

* * *

Riza said her bed was much warmer with him in it, and Roy was inclined to agree.  Granted, in the midst of his contentment, she could have told him that President Bradley was part of a sprawling government conspiracy, and he would have bought it hook, line and sinker.  Roy moved closer to Riza, admiring the way his white shirt looked on her small frame. Lavender, the scent of her shampoo - he realized - filled the space between them, and Roy took a moment to regard the bit of glinting gold still pinned to her ears with a newfound appreciation.

“Mistletoe,” he echoed, verbalizing thoughts that slipped from his tongue like butter.  Roy stroked the skin of her exposed arm, relishing the differences in their skin tones.

“What?” she asked with heavy-lidded eyes, still caught up in a sated buzz.

“Your earrings,” he clarified.  “You told me earlier that they were mistletoe.  At the party, I couldn’t stop thinking about what it would be like to kiss you.”

“Is that what we’re blaming all this on, my earrings?”  If Riza’s words were terse, her playful smile told Roy that her tone was all a front.

“Maybe you wanted to kiss me, and that’s why you wore them.  Subconsciously of course,” he retorted.

Riza sighed and adjusted her head against her pillow.  “No, I knew that I wanted to kiss you but for the fact that I thought you weren't interested.  Which I suspect is something you could have cleared up weeks ago.”

“I didn’t know how to tell you I was pan without it coming out of nowhere.  That’s not something I casually bring up in everyday conversation.” Roy slipped his arm around her waist, complicating their mess of limbs underneath her bedspread.  “Do you forgive me?”

Riza paused for effect, mimicking his declaration during their first proper conversation.  “Yeah. You’re telling me now, and that's what counts.”

Roy chuckled, impressed by Riza’s stellar recall, and turned onto his back to regard the second story’s popcorn ceiling in all its outdated splendor.  Moonlight spilled through the open slats of Riza’s small window, so unlike the tall ones in Roy’s old apartment. But that was another place and time, a relationship best left in the past where morning was easier than evening and secrets preferable to the truth.  And as Riza cozied up to him and placed her head against his chest, Roy realized that the banded moonlight had suited him better all along. Just as Maes and Gracia strived to find their best life on the sunny slats of a white-picket fence, Roy and Riza’s restless souls would more often find themselves on the road less traveled, shady and unkempt as it was.

He would have it no other way.

 

Fin

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, that's a wrap folks. Merry (belated) Christmas to [vino_and_doggos](https://archiveofourown.org/users/vino_and_doggos/pseuds/vino_and_doggos)!
> 
> Again, much thanks to [ruikosakuragi](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ruikosakuragi/works) who beta'ed this fic. She really helped me whip my smut into some sort of (hopefully) pleasing shape. Also, a shout out to [caesurables](http://caesurables.tumblr.com/) who posted some [beautiful art](http://caesurables.tumblr.com/post/181827402711/instant-inspo-from-this-royai-fanfic-i-read-on-ao3) inspired by the ending of part three. I wish I could convey how much I appreciate that drawing as well as the kudos, bookmarks, subscriptions and comments left by everyone. Thank you for being astonishingly engaged readers!
> 
> Now, I'm giving myself a break for like a week to catch up on responding to comments, reading fic and writing a few reviews. And since it's [Fanfic Comment Writing Month](https://faficowrimo.tumblr.com/), let me know if there's a fic you'd like me to comment on, yours or someone else's. We all have that piece that just didn't get the attention it deserved and no promises, but I'd to spread the love a little. Leave me a link in your review or drop me an ask on tumblr @ [flourchildwrites](https://flourchildwrites.tumblr.com/).
> 
> Until next time!


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